


Starlight

by SCD07



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian England, Angst and Humor, But Not Between Arthur and Merlin, But Victoria's Not the Queen, Child Abuse, Consent Issues, Epic Battles, M/M, Magic, Shameless Smut, Slow Build, Torture, Travel, Ygraine Lives, long chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-30 14:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 103,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5167019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SCD07/pseuds/SCD07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As an eleven year old, Merlin prioritizes himself with keeping his magic in check and staying out of people's way. However when he journeys to the Pendragon Manor to apprentice, his transition is less than seamless when the residential six year old sparks a unique fascination with him, and it's just Merlin's luck that the boy is the heir of the dukedom, Arthur Pendragon.</p><p>Merlin just wants to find a place he belongs, but over the years this exploration proves harder than he ever imagined.</p><p>Follow Merlin and Arthur into adulthood and where legend and reality clash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Golden Eyes Shut

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! If you're here from my first Merlin fic, [Broken Chemistry](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4145946/chapters/9351969), then welcome!
> 
> If you're new here, though, then PLEASE READ: my previous readers already know this, but I take liberties with character description since I don't imagine Colin, Bradley, Katie, and the other wonderful cast members in my mind's eye while writing this. That being said, feel free to follow the descriptions I give or use those beautiful people to your imagination's whimsy :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Merlin stared up at the crumbling, albeit sturdy wall of mortar and rock. He had passed various sections of the same wall along his footed travels, but this bit was the strongest section standing. The fragments of stone wall were not seamless; tails of rock lay scattered or clustered together across the countryside, while sporadic sections continued to reach for the sky.

His eyes flicked onto the dusty brown insect crawling across the stone. It turned to reroute its path upward and its small wings batted open, contrasting the dark body with a brilliant blue. Starlight blue.

Despite the overcast sky, swords of sunlight pierced through to graze the rock, made black by the misty drizzle. Where the stone should have glimmered with the play of light over water, it sparkled gold. At Merlin’s back he felt chilled, but his face was warmed by the stone, as if it were the embers of a fire. He knew the ancient sorcerer’s name attached to the wall, Hadrian, and he could feel his magic lingering still, protecting the earth, the sky, and the ignorant creatures who laughed at its decay or studied it like some marvel. Even at the under ripe age of eleven, Merlin could see the small chisel scratches from ancient labor, believed to have been done by vandals, bored youths, or passing antlers and claws.

As if magic was so fragile.

The butterfly lethargically opened and closed its wings once more, steering Merlin’s direction to the last few miles of his journey. His worn, leather soles squished into the muddy grass and occasionally scratched against a pebble or errant rock. Part of him felt relief, but Merlin was hyper aware of his heart beating within his skinny frame. He was sure the letter crinkling inside his rough spun coat insisted for his caretaker to feed him thoroughly…even though he ate throughout the day. More than once he and his mother had run out of milk and preserves because he ate without thinking.

His mother blamed his metabolism. Merlin blamed his magic. Magic was always hungry.

He heard the city before he saw it. The transition between rolling green fields to scattered cottages was pleasant, even familiar of home, but the abrupt switch from two-room cottages to towering yellow stone pillars with not a thatched roof in sight was nothing like Merlin had expected. The clatter and rumble of carriages mixed with the rustle of broom bristles and the wet slop of things being dumped out windows. Merlin made a point to keep to the edge of the sidewalk, but he stumbled into the street as a sharp clip of steel was heard. Merlin overcompensated his recovery and wound up sprawled in the gutter. His wide, sapphire eyes peered up and caught the same glint of steel clipping across the road, but his gaze wandered up the horse’s leg it was nailed to…at least sixteen hands high.

Merlin hastily found his footing as he wondered if being in the city demanded high stature: high roofs, tall horses, taller hats…just about the only thing he was not surprised by were the high noses of passersby, deeming him unfit for their attention or upon scrutiny, not worth a second glance.

His mother had warned him of this. _“Don’t mind it, my love,”_ she had said. _“People fear what they do not know, even things as simple as clothing. They dress differently where you’re going. They will look at you differently, and even treat you differently. Don’t mind them, and they won’t mind you.”_

Merlin quickly found the letter in his interior pocket and paused on the sidewalk to read his mother’s scrawl bearing the address he needed to reach. Craning his chin upward, Merlin tried to find some sort of directional sign when a laugh drew his attention to his left. An elderly woman with a bulbous, discolored wart on her chin and scraggly blond hair was smoking a pipe and eyeing him with an amused smirk.

“Lost?” she deduced. “Yer mouth’s hanging open for anythin’ to fly into it.”

Merlin’s jaw snapped closed as the woman approached. She nodded her wart at the envelope but made no move to reach for it. “Where’re ye seeking?”

“Um,” Merlin mumbled. He swallowed as his eyes refocused on the parchment. “The Duke Pendragon Estate, Servant’s Quarters,” he read.

His eyes lifted with an expectant parting of his lips. He continued to hold the letter in both hands while the woman peered at him, smoke leaking from her lips. She stared between him and the letter as if gauging how serious he was. By the way her eyes refused to linger on the neat scrawl, Merlin knew she was illiterate. Many people back home were similar, or they could count and figure numbers, but letters were never worth their time. His mother had adamantly disagreed with this mentality and had made sure he read nightly.

The woman finally came to some consensus and pointed with her pipe along the boulevard. “Jus’ keep the path. Yer no’ like to miss it, large as it is. My advice, though: choose the other end.”

Merlin’s brows furrowed as the pipe swung to point at the opposite end of the street, the way he had come. She resumed her place against the wall of the building and he could not help but ask, “Why?”

Her cracked laugh was joined with a burst of white fumes. “The place is cursed, don’ ye know? Don’ let the dragon keep ye up, skinny.”

Merlin’s brows furrowed so deep his eyelids drooped. Dragons? He had heard and read of superstitions but he had thought only rural folk believed such things. He glanced over his shoulder to analyze whether the woman matched her surroundings, if perhaps she was not as local as she made out to be, but when he turned only her acrid, overly sweet fumes remained.

Trotting across the intersecting streets, Merlin thought he must have traversed the whole city, from one side of the street to the other and once more into rural-looking terrain, before he found a building that matched the old woman's description: a high wall erected around an even taller castle. A gold emblem of a dragon was painted on its massive, cherry wood doors. Thrilled to have finally arrived at a dry place, Merlin splashed across the lawn and up the flagstones to pound his fist against the dragon’s breast.

One of the doors opened immediately, revealing a pair of guards loosely garmented in steel grey and crimson uniforms. Since his eyes were level with their belts, Merlin had a direct view of the pistols braced to their hips, as well as their ceremonial swords. “Your business here?” one of them inquired, but not unkindly.

“Erm…” Merlin quickly found his letter again. “I’m to report to the servant’s quarters.”

“Follow ‘round,” the man answered tersely, waving a finger to indicate Merlin was to circle around the estate. His eyes glanced to his right, as if to somehow see the distance, when the guard uttered, “Coming or not?”

Merlin realized the door was being held open for him and he scuffled past the threshold. He entered an open, but shadowed passageway that circled around a courtyard; the interior of the wall. Beyond, was the mansion itself, fashioned in the very stone of the ancients. Of Hadrian. Merlin could see the dainty spark of gold in the cracks of the flagstones, framing the diamond panes of the windows—

“Follow ‘round,” the guard repeated, and this time Merlin understood and followed the passageway around the courtyard and fortress. Along the side of the house was a long stretch of garden, and behind was another courtyard, although this one was devoted to militant training. Across the courtyard appeared to be another expanse of garden but Merlin focused on jogging past the clang of blunted steel and flinched against the explosion of black powder to pummel his fist on a less ornate set of double doors. After a few moments, the iron bolted doors opened and Merlin was ushered in by a confused looking woman layered with aprons.

“What are you knocking on the door for?” she wondered. Merlin averted his eyes from her ample and trembling bosom as she fussed a towel around him. Her breathing sounded labored, but her grip was strong on his arms as she held him still and wrung the cloth along his soaked body.

“I-I…” he tried, but the towel surrounded his head and his mouth was obstructed. “I-mmph!”

“Speak clearly, luv. What is it you want?” He guessed she meant to say _love_ but it sounded more like _lump._

The towel moved to reveal the middle-aged woman’s pea green eyes and Merlin noticed the broken veins in her rosy cheeks as he piped, “I’m looking for a man named Gaius! A physician!”

The woman stood erect as if her time had been wasted. “No need to shout! Just down the corridor, take the second right, and it’ll find you.”

Merlin trotted off before her or the towel could ensnare him again. True to her words, upon the second right, the hall ended at a brief flight of stairs and a door standing beside a tarnished plaque, whose script suggested a capital G. Merlin’s knuckles throbbed against the wood this time, but a warm voice chimed from the other side, “Come in!”

Turning the brass knob, Merlin looked around a large, octagonal room that was nothing like the wet, cold, hard exterior he had passed through. The floor was overlaid with carpets of varying designs, and the walls were hung with flowing cloths of white and lavender. Several worktables were strewn about, piled with books and tools of metal and glass, and two doors suggested adjoining rooms…but Merlin could not find his host.

“Ah, you must be Merlin,” said the low, slightly husky the voice. Merlin craned his neck, and where the elaborate curtains were not hanging was a stairway and balcony of sorts, against which leaned an elderly man on a ladder with one of his arms clutching books to his chest. His other arm held the curtain aside to reveal bookshelves set into the stone. “You’re earlier than I expected. Would you be so kind as to climb up the stairs and take these from me?”

Merlin did not even bother removing the heavy rucksack from his shoulders as he rushed to help. Kneeling on the edge of the balcony, he reached for the volumes as the old man explained, “I will need more research than I anticipated. Medical practitioners never write what you need in one tome. They have to scatter it about—”

Merlin’s head perked up at the sound which distracted the man’s speech. A strange creaking…like a hinge.

“Hmm…must have left a window…” he muttered before reaching into the wall for the smaller pile of books he had already accumulated. “Anyhow, my name’s Gaius—oohf!”

Merlin did not think. It was as natural as breathing.

The ladder snapped beneath Gaius and time slowed. Merlin could see the splinter fragments drifting toward the floor, the particles of dust hovering between them. The old man’s weathered fingers began to uncurl from the rung of the ladder the same moment Merlin’s palms slid off the worn silk and leather bindings. Gaius began to fall, but Merlin’s arm reached through the balusters and grasped the man’s arm. He held firm as the splinters swam through the air, finding their places in the ladder once more. Time sped up to return to its normal speed, as the ladder climbed up to hold Gaius again.

The elder man lurched as if he had fallen, but he clutched at the rungs with strength younger than his years as his periwinkle eyes lifted to meet Merlin’s terrified, sapphire ones. Both the old man’s strength and the eleven year old’s defied logic, but the latter instantaneously released the former and bolted down the stairs.

“Wait!” Gaius rasped, out of shock more than fatigue. “Wait, Merlin! You needn’t be frightened!”

But Merlin’s hands were already on the doorknob, and he made it up the four short stairs before Gaius’s hand warmed through the sodden fabric of Merlin’s coat. “Wait, Merlin, I’m not angry with you,” Gaius assured, but then his voice dropped to a murmur. “We must speak in here. Stone walls have remarkable hearing.”

Merlin felt himself guided back into the room, but instead of speaking outright, the older man removed the straps of the rucksack from Merlin’s shoulders, as well as the coat. It was not until he draped a woolen blanket around Merlin’s shoulders that he commenced, “That was _remarkable._ ”

Merlin realized he was freezing and shivered. Gaius quickly steered him by the shoulders to a seat beside the crackling fireplace and continued, “Where did you learn such magic?”

“I didn’t—I don’t!” he blurted with an erratic shake of his head. “I don’t know what happened!”

 _“Merlin,”_ Gaius almost chided, if it weren’t for the sparkle in his eyes. “Not in so many words, because your mother is smart enough to know how easily letters can be confiscated, but she told me you’re special. I could never have imagined…”

He inhaled deeply as if it was too much to bear, and Merlin’s eyes diverted to the flames, snuggling deeper within the surprisingly soft wool around him. The hot orange and gold of the fire reflected across his eyes and Gaius observed aloud, “You are an old soul…only those can master such powerful magic at so young an age. You are truly gifted.”

“I ate all the food,” he mumbled involuntarily. “Mama couldn’t keep the house stocked. She had to send me away because I broke more things than I grew.”

Gaius appeared puzzled for a moment before he deduced, “You mean you tried to grow crops? To help keep the cabinets full?”

Merlin nodded, burying his nose deeper inside the blanket with each bow of his head. “There’s a letter in the inside pocket.”

Both his and Gaius’s eyes slid over to the coat slumped on one of the tables. Before Gaius’s very eyes, the fabric lurched and roiled as if the letter itself was trying to escape and answer its summons. Gaius peeked at Merlin, whose eyes glimmered with a natural gold hue not caused by the reflective flames. He quickly averted his gaze, and the coat lay still.

 _So much power without a funnel,_ he thought. He stood from his seat beside Merlin and manually retrieved the crumpled envelope that was remarkably dry despite its moist confines. He swiped a butter knife under the fold, only to stop and glance at the mop of black hair reaching in all directions over the wool blanket.

“I’ll read this later,” he announced as he returned to the fireplace. He could feel Merlin’s eyes on him as he tucked the letter inside his tweed trousers and reached for the wooden ladle of the pot hanging over the fire. Retrieving a porcelain bowl from the mantel, Gaius poured a hearty dose of stew into it and handed it over to Merlin. Gaius went to find a clean spoon, whereas Merlin tipped the bowl and drank as much of the thick broth as he could.

“Patience, now. You’ll spill all down your front,” he reprimanded congenially. Merlin gratefully accepted the pewter spoon and shoveled chunks of lamb, beets, and carrots into his mouth. Even as he ate, Merlin’s stomach growled.

Gaius reached for his pitcher and poured water into two tankards. As he held the slices of lemon within the pitcher, he stole observations of the boy sitting opposite him. Gaius remembered his mother, Hunith, as a lovely woman with flowing brown hair and a kind face. Even in the softness of youth, Gaius could see Merlin had her statuesque cheekbones and full lips. His inky lashes kissed his cheeks as he ate, already scraping the bottom of the bowl.

Gaius’s eyes drifted lower, examining the boy’s frame. He knew boys grew in layers; he witnessed it in the training yard countless times over the years. Bones lengthened, turning boys into skeletons before muscle piled on and turned them into men. Merlin was already exhibiting this, though: his narrow knees stuck out beneath his coarse linen trousers, which were too short for him and revealed his equally knobby ankles. The pallor of his skin was only broken by the pale blue veins rushing into his feet and a dusting of mouse-brown hair.

Merlin’s spoon scraped the porcelain a final time and his cheeks bowled with the food as he chewed contemplatively. Gaius could not help smirking to himself as he followed Merlin’s eyes to the iron kettle being licked by the flames. The boy was easy to read.

“Help yourself,” he prompted. Merlin rose to reach for the ladle, his cheeks still full of carrot and meat as he replenished his bowl. Sitting once more, he drained half his tankard before diving into his second helpings. Gaius’s silver brows lifted. Under twenty minutes, Merlin was a fascination, eating as if he were sixteen, not merely eleven, and Gaius could clearly see the status of him drying. Merlin had entered his domain damp and frazzled, but his hair was already transformed into soft licks and curls sweeping off his face, the hems of his trousers no longer dripping over his shoes. Gaius was eager to read the letter he was sure would tell him more about this boy Hunith had sent to him, but first he wanted Merlin comfortable, dry, and fed.

When Merlin finished and set the bowl aside with a heavy sigh, Gaius found a pair of shears and told him to sit still. “The madam of the house will want to see your face,” he explained while loosely tying a spare tablecloth around Merlin’s neck. “Were you told why you are here?”

“To help you,” Merlin blinked against the locks of hair falling past his cheeks. “To apprentice.”

Gaius smiled even though Merlin could not see it. “Yes, but as a member of the castle, you will be called upon to help with other chores, especially by the Duchess. She is excited to meet you.”

“Why?” Merlin asked, turning his head in curiosity.

Gaius turned it back to continue cutting. “Each servant must meet the owner of the dwelling they serve. The Duke is away in the capital, otherwise you would meet them both. You needn’t feel anxious; Ygraine has a kind heart and is very fond of children. She takes it upon herself to train the youngest members of the home. You will get on well.”

Merlin closed his eyes for the duration of the cut. When the large weathered hands ruffled his hair, removing the stray bits and pieces, he opened his eyes and lifted his own hands to inspect Gaius’s work. It was not all that different in the front than what he arrived with, just neater. The sides and back were trimmed close, though, no longer draping over his ears, and Merlin felt a draft behind his nape. He fidgeting with his fringe, trying to tame his ski sloped tresses, but today they were determined to arch and peak instead of fall flat.

“Come, change into these,” the old man prompted. “I have a feeling you will grow faster than a weed, so you will need to roll the hems to suit you, but they are dry and softer than what you have on.”

Merlin was surprised to find a pile of everything from cotton undergarments to a selection of leather belts waiting for him on one of the tables. He followed Gaius’s pointed finger to one of the doors. “That will be your room. Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.”

Shouldering his rucksack, Merlin carried the pile of raiment into a rectangular room similarly decorated: the bed rested against a wall covered by a shockingly dark purple fabric. It was pinned in certain places, as if someone just wanted it up and out of the way, but the swooping arches of fabric reminded Merlin of the aubergines his mother grew in the summer. A window let the cool light in, and a tall bureau stood opposite it along with a table and chair. Merlin found the bureau empty and awaiting his garments, which he organized within. Pulling on the fresh underwear and undershirt, Merlin tucked the overlong fabric of the trousers inside his spare set of shoes: soft leather boots that stopped just above his ankles. The white shirt fell over his hips like a tunic, but he circled a braided leather belt around his stomach to keep it from billowing around his figure.

Returning to the octagonal room, Gaius silently rolled up Merlin’s sleeves to his elbows and folded his collar down. In the process, Gaius let the back of his hand rest on Merlin’s neck, gauging his temperature. Not wanting to risk the boy getting sick on his first day, he rummaged through one of the massive sets of drawers and uncovered a faded blue sweater. After Merlin shrugged it on, Gaius repeated the rolling of his sleeves and tucking of his collar before leading the way through the castle.

Merlin eagerly followed behind but more than once Gaius had to tell Merlin to keep up since his face was parallel with the vaulted ceilings, gazing at the ornate tapestries or the craftsmanship of the doors. They passed through a banquet hall teaming with servants already at work for tonight’s dinner, and then an indoor garden remodeled so the room had a glass roof. Lilac and basil drifted fragrantly in the air.

Merlin paused in the doorway when he spotted a lone bee crawling over the waxy petals of a lily. He nearly called out to Gaius, asking if a window should be opened to let it return to its hive, but his eyes were already lifting toward the glass panes across the room, he could see the latch moving like an arm to the left, unlocking the—

“SORCERER!”

Merlin’s eyes shot wide only to flinch shut when a solid _thwack!_ connected with his backside. He was grateful for the layers of cloth cushioning the blow to his bum but his heart thundered in his chest at being discovered.

And yet, something about the shout made his pulse falter to a slower pace…the high pitched voice and the way the word sounded more like sorcer _wer_ …

Rotating, Merlin’s chin dropped to the smaller boy wielding a wooden sword at him. Standing a head shorter than him, Merlin was not sure where to let his eyes fall first. The boy wore a shirt obviously not meant for him since it dropped to his bare shins, dangling over equally bare feet. The shirt collar slumped over one shoulder, revealing smooth, unblemished skin and causing Merlin to guess he was entirely naked underneath. A necklace of gold beads and amethyst hung to his stomach, and atop his messy, golden head was a paper mache crown.

Merlin’s gaze finally landed on the boy’s clear blue eyes, narrowed at him in fierceness. Starlight blue.

“Bear thine arms, scoundrel! I lay my gauntlet at thee!” the boy proclaimed, waving the sword with a flourish.

Merlin’s features twisted in a comical grimace. “Huh?”

The sword fell as the boy huffed exasperatedly. “You’re supposed to fight me! I’m the king, and you’re the villain! Don’t you know this game at all?”

Merlin stared dumbly as his mind processed how he had not been discovered, only stumbled into a child’s game. “No, I’ve just turned eleven,” he replied, as if this explained everything.

“Well I’ll soon be six!” the boy snapped. Merlin’s features opened as he observed the fire in the boy’s frame. He clearly felt with his whole body or not at all; he rose onto his toes to meet Merlin’s stare, his shoulders thrown back so his chest puffed out. The crown drooped lopsidedly as he stepped forward to confront Merlin all the better, but Merlin placed a hand on the boy’s chest to hold him at bay. He could feel the strong pitter-pat of the boy’s heart beating against his palm, the rush of life and blood surging through this small figure.

“Fight me or bow to your king!” the boy shouted, raising his sword again.

“I’d rather not,” Merlin commented, straightening the crown for him.

Those bright irises blinked, and for a second, Merlin could see the disappointed hurt in the boy’s eyes. Just as quickly, it vanished, and those tawny blond brows furrowed at him. “Why not? Are you scared to face the mighty King Arthur? You can tell I’ll take you apart with one blow!”

“I’m more afraid of shattering you with less than that,” Merlin replied breezily. He meant to turn around and catch up with Gaius, but the tip of the wooden sword prodded his sternum.

“Don’t underestimate me! I’ve been training since birth!”

Merlin was beginning to feel jaded by this boy. Not only was he going to lose Gaius, he had no interest in playing a game that involved being thwacked with a sword all afternoon. “Really? You must be tired, seeing as how recent that was.”

The boy’s face fell into stern contemplation. His supple lips plumped in a pout as he deciphered Merlin’s meaning. “Are you calling me simple?”

“No, I wouldn’t presume as much,” Merlin quipped. “I’m saying a lot of work goes into being a prat. Your training is very thorough.”

For a boy of five, the sword moved with surprising speed. Merlin’s head ducked but he did not escape the dull edge. His temple throbbed from the blow. “You can’t call me a prat!” the boy announced.

“Ow, fine!” Merlin rubbed his aching skull and met the boy’s glare. “Then don’t be a prat, _your majesty!”_

The sword pummeled against his shoulder next. “You did it again! You can’t call a king a prat!”

“Ow! Stop it! I’m your elder! Doesn’t anyone teach you manners?” Merlin exclaimed, dodging around the boy to escape the swing of the sword.

“You’re barely eleven!” the boy, who Merlin presumed was named Arthur, shouted. “And I’m the king!”

“I’m double your age!” Merlin countered, lunging between the rows of urns overflowing with vines and blossoms.

“That’s treason!” Arthur backfired, sending petals fluttering to the floor when he missed Merlin’s head and struck a wisteria growing along the wall trellis.

“No it isn’t! It’s fact!” Merlin successfully ducked beneath a swing and scuffled beneath a long table. It was not the best plan, though, since Arthur was shorter and easily ran after him. Merlin yelped when the blunt point bit his bum cheek, eliciting a giggle from Arthur. Merlin stood so quickly in order to escape, the table briefly lifted onto two legs before thudding back down. A vase tumbled off the edge, however, and shattered, sending dirt and roots everywhere.

“Thou villain!” Arthur sang. “Breaking Mother’s pots!”

“That’s hardly _my_ fault!” Merlin declared as he maneuvered around another row of urns before he rotated too quickly and tripped backwards over a bed of daylilies. Arthur stomped right in after him, kicking up soil and causing another vase to topple onto its side in his wake. Merlin dashed to the side and behind another long table, but in his haste, Arthur barreled right into the table, causing it to teeter back and forth.

Something about the sound of the legs thudding on the ground gave Merlin reason to glance back in time to see it leaning far too much over Arthur’s golden head. Thick pots as large and larger than the boy’s entire body began to slide downward, and Merlin reacted before his thoughts could catch up.

He lunged forward, catching Arthur against his frame and tackling him to the floor, cushioning his head with his hands and shielding him from the tumult of clay, soil, and flora crashing over them. The edge of the table landed harshly over Merlin’s shoulder, jarring a pained mewl from his throat while dirt stuck to his hair and slithered underneath his collar. Arthur instantly curled tightly against him, shutting his eyes against Merlin’s chest and flinching with every crash and bang of things falling around their heads.

When silence reigned, they lay there for a while longer, as if waiting for the ceiling to drop too. Peeking his head up, Merlin surveyed their surroundings. He did not have time to consider how much trouble he would be in or how much cleaning this would require, because without warning Arthur screamed right in his ear.

“AAAAAH! BEE! IT’S A BEE! Off! Off! OFF!”

Sure enough, a dainty ball of golden fuzz had landed on the boy’s shoulder, but in his panic, it took flight only to land further up on his chest. Arthur abandoned the sword to raise his fists in an attempt to beat the creature off of him, but Merlin pressed his weight over the boy, pinning his arms down with his elbows while he coaxed the insect onto his palm as gently as he could manage.

“No! Stop! Bees are important!” He scooped the creature into the protective cave of his hands and leaped onto his feet. Arthur recovered his wooden sword, his cheeks red as his chest heaved.

“No they’re not! They sting people! Their poison kills people!”

“Only if you’re allergic!” Merlin fired back. “Bees keep the flowers growing!”

“Flowers are not more important than dead people!” Arthur roared as loudly as his young voice could carry. Which admittedly was quite a volume, and Merlin’s ringing ears could attest to it.

“What would you know?” Merlin bristled. “You’re just a prat playing king of the castle!”

“I’M NOT A PRAT!” Arthur yelled, his fiery blue eyes shot wide as he watched Merlin reach up to let the bee crawl onto the windowsill.

“Arthur. Merlin,” came the calm voice of Gaius on the opposite side of the room. Both boys startled and faced him ashamedly. “Arthur, hasn’t your mother been searching for you since breakfast?”

His little chin dropped low enough to touch his chest. “Young lords as well as kings must dress properly,” the old man added.

“She’ll scold me,” Arthur muttered weakly by way of explanation.

Gaius’s eyes were soft as he assured, “I think she will call for a bath sooner than a punishment. And Merlin, that goes for you as well. Both of you come along. Ygraine awaits.”

The boys obeyed and Merlin yanked Arthur out of the path of broken pottery as they went. Arthur smacked his arm away. “I’m trying to help you,” Merlin hissed. “You’ll cut your feet.”

“I don’t need your help!” Arthur grumbled. “You, who handles bees!”

“I didn’t get stung, did I?” Merlin challenged.

“I didn’t cut my feet, did I?” Arthur snapped.

They both scowled as they looked anywhere but at each other. They could not see the amused smile Gaius wore as he led them to the door that was the Duchess Ygraine Pendragon’s suite. For a moment, Merlin stood puzzled as the door opened to a pair of closed, garnet curtains. Gaius held one of them open and Arthur pushed inside the heavy velvet before Merlin, who quickly understood the use of curtains since the massive suite was more like three rooms in one. Within, great sheets of white silk and lace sectioned off the parts of the room, giving it an ethereal, dreamlike quality. A couple maids worked about the room, folding linens, pressing garments, and tying off some of the drapery to open up the space.

In doing so, a tall and fair woman was revealed to be sitting at her white oak desk. When she turned around, Merlin’s heart simultaneously flew up and plummeted. The Duchess was a strikingly beautiful woman of long, wispy blond hair the same light golden shade as the boy, whose topaz blue eyes also matched hers.

 _Arthur Pendragon,_ Merlin pieced together with dread. He had not been here an hour and he was already wondering how best to repack his travel bag. His own mother would not be pleased upon hearing why Merlin had been sent home…

“Arthur,” Ygraine welcomed with a soft, amused grin. “You’ve been playing in the conservatory again—oh!”

Her features opened at the sight of Merlin standing beside him, thrice as filthy but equally disgruntled. Her bottom lip sucked into her mouth as she bit it to restrain her laughter. “You make quite an entrance, don’t you?”

“This is Merlin, the one I told you about,” Gaius introduced.

“Yes, I remember,” Ygraine smiled and stood to approach them. Merlin squirmed against the dirt falling behind his back but stood still when the woman scooped Arthur against her, completely disregarding the light blue of her gown in favor of holding her son. Arthur immediately buried his face in her neck as she breathed in the scent of his hair and the bits of earth caked in it. “Ladies, bring the copper bath,” she requested, and the maids instantly obeyed. To Gaius she promised, “I’ll send it down to you upon the hour. Might I ask you to bring Merlin back up afterwards?”

“Certainly,” Gaius nodded and steered Merlin out of the room. The walk back was itchy due to soil lodging itself in Merlin’s crevasses, but as soon as the door shut to Gaius’s rooms, he asked, “Why didn’t you stop the table from falling as you did the ladder?”

Merlin was caught between a frown and a gape. “I can’t…I don’t…I don’t think about these things. They just happen. Were you watching the whole time?”

“Yes,” the old man answered unashamedly while he helped remove Merlin’s sweater. He shook out soil as he continued, “But if your power stems from your subconscious thoughts, why didn’t you keep the table from falling, or even Arthur from challenging you?”

“I told you, I don’t think about these things,” Merlin reiterated. “The table was falling. All I knew was that he would get hurt. I wasn’t thinking of stopping him from playing his game. I just wanted to keep him from hurting me or himself. He’s too small to understand when people say no…”

Gaius successfully removed the white shirt and shook out the particles from it while his eyes roamed over Merlin’s skinny torso. He subconsciously made a note to keep a pot of stew over the fire at all times. “Then you should have known it’s natural for a boy to fear bees.”

Merlin’s jaw opened to speak, but then shut. Gaius placed a bin in front of him and instructed him to bend over it so he could shake the dirt from his hair. “Even old souls stumble over youth now and again, but it is your job to be smart when Arthur needs you to be. This is the hardest task a servant must do for his employer: be intelligent for him even when he is being a fool.”

Not long afterward, a knock sounded at the door, and it opened to a train of people carrying in the copper tub and steaming buckets of water. Merlin’s flesh turned ruddy in the water, which in turn clouded from the filth leaving his body. After drying, Merlin redressed in fresh clothes and followed once more on the path toward the Duchess’s room. Arthur was nowhere to be found, but she still wore her blue gown with the smudges he had left behind.

“Merlin,” she beamed, crouching to kiss both his cheeks. “Feel better? I hope my son did not make you regret coming to us?”

The corners of Merlin’s mouth twitched, unsure what expression to show. This, coupled with his prolonged silence made Ygraine wonder, “Did I break something?”

She poked his chest, the cogs of his mind jarred back into gear. “I-I’m not leaving?”

Her elegant features drew together in a frown. “Why would you be leaving?”

“I…I broke the pots,” he stammered. “I ruined the garden and almost got Arthur hurt…”

Ygraine smiled and combed the ends of his hair out of his eyes, causing them to stick up freely. “This place could use some excitement, and goodness knows Arthur needs a friend.”

Merlin exhaled a breath he felt he’d been holding all day. “But I’m too old for him.”

The Duchess guffawed. “You boys are so proud. The five extra years you have will hardly matter in the years to come, and I will warn you now: Arthur won’t tolerate being ignored no matter his age or yours. I am expecting many more pots to get broken.”

She winked and sauntered to her desk for the pitcher of water. She poured two glasses and handed one to him. He drained it before she finished her first sip. Her eyes widened slightly but she gestured for him to refill as he pleased. “I trust you know what comes next?”

Merlin used the time it took to pour to consider that. “I need to clean the mess.”

She took a seat and crossed a knee over the other. “Quite right. I would have Arthur help you, but…well, cleaning is not exactly an innate skill for him. I have a customized punishment for him on which he is already hard at work.”

Merlin gulped twice and ventured, “What’s he doing?”

“Reading,” she beamed. “I’m sure you noticed how physical he is. Getting him to sit still for an hour or more is a trial for me as well as a punishment for him. He is to read two chapters and write a summary of each before I let him outside. Do you read, Merlin?”

His chin lifted and he nodded. “Every night.”

“Really?” Ygraine’s features brightened even more than they naturally were. “What do you read?”

He found it incredibly easy to speak with the Duchess. He told her the books he had read recently, which she herself had also read. She asked about his journey here, and did not let him cease until he had given her every detail, minus the elements of magic. Only when her maids passed in and out of the chambers, remarking, ‘Yes, milady,’ did he realize his fault.

“Em…I should be going…my lady. Things to clean.”

“Merlin,” she caught him on his way to the door. “When we’re alone like this, you needn’t feel obligated towards formality. Not with me. In public, of course, we are bound, but I want this place to be a second home to you. Do you understand?”

He gave a curt nod. “Yes, my lady.”

It did not take him long to find a storage closet filled with buckets, mops, brooms, and pans. Selecting the required materials, Merlin lumbered to the conservatory and started with gathering all the shards of broken pottery. Afterward, he set the table to rights and tried to lift the plants within their piles of soil so they could be easily repotted without damage to their roots. Sweeping was the most tedious chore. Pile after pile he swept into pans and dumped into buckets, but then he would find another corner where dirt had scattered.

As the room darkened with twilight, Merlin wondered if Arthur had finished reading yet, and then he shook his head. Even little lords needed discipline, especially _that_ one. Playing was fine, but not if common courtesies were abandoned.

Finally depositing the tools in the closet, Merlin hauled the buckets downstairs to dump outside, which was conveniently en route to Gaius’s rooms. Passing through the banquet hall, though, Merlin stopped when he glanced a blond head sound asleep on the long, walnut table. Setting the buckets down, he lightly jostled Arthur’s shoulder. It was an odd sight, seeing the boy with buttoned cuffs and trousers. He had kicked off his shoes at some point, choosing to sit cross-legged.

Arthur barely roused, only humming and alternating which side of his head rested on the pages. Merlin left to dump the buckets outside and returned to find the boy exactly as he’d left him. Why hadn’t anyone woken him?

“Arthur, you missed dinner. Arthur,” Merlin coaxed, rubbing vigorously between the boy’s shoulder blades. All the good it did was loosen a thread of drool from Arthur’s mouth.

Merlin cupped his hand underneath Arthur’s forehead while his other hand held his torso. Easing him up, Merlin gathered Arthur in his arms to leave the banquet hall. The careful rocking of his steps roused Arthur enough to put his arms around Merlin’s neck, his face turning to nestle against the column of Merlin’s throat before his breaths resumed their deep, oceanic sway. It occurred to Merlin that he had no idea where Arthur’s room was, but he went to Ygraine’s quarters and kicked a rhythm on the door as loudly as he dared.

One of the maids opened the door, and behind her Ygraine observed the state of her son. “Ah, I’ll take him from here. Thank you, Merlin.”

 _“Humm…”_ Arthur moaned, his arms tightening around Merlin at the last second before he recognized his mother’s hold and vanilla-floral scent in his dreams.

Returning to his own bed, Merlin was thrilled to feel an even mixture of down and straw supporting his weight. He did not even realize how tired he was until he opened his eyes, and it was the next day. Gaius had a large bowl of porridge, honey, and blueberries waiting for him before he quickly ushered Merlin to the conservatory for a lesson on herbs. Merlin sketched and labeled as quickly as he could, but words, recipes, and procedures for cures flew off his tongue at a rate that made Merlin forget to eat until they left for dinner.

And then Gaius tested him with the day’s knowledge over their roast and vegetables. The next day, several days, Merlin lost count, progressed like this until one evening Merlin lay in his bed with a book open across his stomach as he heard Gaius’s muffled voice outside. It was not the first time he’d heard the man talking to himself, muttering over his medicinal ingredients or simply reading aloud—

The bedroom door barged open to reveal a short figure with a contrastingly fiery glare on his face. “So it’s true,” Arthur announced.

The page Merlin had been turning fluttered back down. He had not seen Arthur since his first day, yet the look on the boy’s face was something akin to betrayal. “What’s true?”

“Mama said you read every night. I thought she was lying, but Mother never lies. How am I supposed to get out of reading now?”

Merlin glanced at the window as if the answer might come shining through its panes. “How would I know? Why are you using me as an excuse to not read?”

“Because a lot of the servants don’t read!” Arthur huffed, placing his hands on his hips, “and they get by fine! But she said you were a servant, and you read every night.”

That accusatory glare returned and all Merlin could do was utter, “Yes…I do. I love reading.”

Arthur blinked and his face fell, again saddened by some kind of betrayal. “You…love it?”

“Yes. I’d have to, otherwise I wouldn’t do it every night,” Merlin explained. The last thing he expected was for Arthur to clamber onto his bed and crawl beside him.

“What are you reading?” he queried, leaning over the pages so Merlin could no longer see a third of the content. He pulled Arthur’s shoulder back so he was leaning against the pillows and out of the way.

“It’s one of Gaius’s books. I finished the ones I brought from home and he wants me to learn medicinal herbs and remedies quickly.”

“Sounds boring,” Arthur declared, wiggling his knees. “But yours has pictures. Mine don’t have pictures.” He pointed at the outlined leaves on the page. “We have that in the garden.”

“Mint,” Merlin identified. “It’s good for stabilizing metabolism, bloating, bad breath, and makes a good tea.”

“Tea?” Arthur caught on to the familiar, edible item. Merlin nodded and lifted the mug of tea from his side of the bed. Two sprigs of fresh mint stuck out of the steaming water. He had been hoping it might help with his own metabolism, but the only observation he’d noticed was that mint tea went wonderfully with Gaius’s raspberry bread pudding as well as his stew. His stomach rumbled just thinking about it.

Arthur gripped the mug with both hands, blew the white tendrils of steam away, and sipped. The progress of Arthur tasting the hot tea went on for some time, and loudly. Merlin managed to turn the page but his slurping companion stymied his concentration. “Do you like it or not?” he wondered impatiently.

“It’s not sweet,” was Arthur’s answer, but after that, every time Merlin raised the mug for a drink, Arthur reached for a sip as well.

When the tea was drained, Merlin resumed his reading only to be interrupted with questions for explanations regarding each and every picture. “Why don’t you just read it yourself?”

“The curly script is hard to read!” Arthur defended. “And there are words I don’t know. Like this one.”

“Helianthus,” Merlin read. “It’s the botanical name for a sunflower.”

“Oh,” Arthur pouted. “What do they do?”

“The seeds can be roasted and eaten,” Merlin recalled from his summers back home, “but the oil soothes skin problems, like rashes and dryness. Helps people poop.”

Arthur erupted in a fit of giggles, falling back against the pillows and Merlin. “You made that up!” he said through rosy cheeks and glossy eyes.

“No I didn’t,” Merlin defended, pointed to the page. He read, “ ‘Cooking with this oil, as opposed to conventional olive, has shown to aid laxative progress.’ Laxative is poop.”

Arthur’s knees folded against his chest, only to fall against Merlin when his laughter loosened his body. “Sunflowers…pooping!” he giggled profusely. Having the golden boy phrase it so simply while his blue eyes squinted with tears inspired Merlin to chuckle with him. He liked how Arthur laughed until his face, throat, and chest were red, even if it was about feces.

Their laughter dwindled and so did Arthur’s questions after a time. When the candles on both sides of the bed reached halfway, Merlin glanced beside him and found Arthur sound asleep against his shoulder. His sandy lashes fluttered as his eyes moved in his dreams, but he did not awaken when Merlin held him close on the way to his mother’s room.

The Duchess opened her door herself this time, and sighed with a smile at the state of her son. “This may become a habit. Come, I’ll show you his rooms.”

Merlin adjusted Arthur’s weight in his arms and followed behind Ygraine, who did not have far to lead. Two doors down and on the opposite side, she opened the door to Arthur’s room, which was a mirror image of her own. Only, where her entrance curtains were red while the rest were white, Arthur’s were the opposite. Ygraine was kind enough to hold open the thick, white velvet for Merlin to pass under as he made his way to the wine colored bed. The crimson hangings gave the room a cozy atmosphere, but Merlin could not help but think it was an adult room given to a child. Everything was so large and grand, a small force like Arthur could get lost in it.

Merlin held him with one arm while he turned back the covers and sheet, swatting away the decorative pillows emblazoned with the rough golden threads of a dragon. Prying Arthur off of him was another matter.

“Lie down with him and rub his back. He’ll let go eventually,” his mother advised. Merlin did as he was told, and was surprised by how quickly Arthur settled on his back, stretching his limbs like a starfish and practically kicking Merlin from the bed. Ygraine gave Merlin a smile as he left the room, mantling the task of tucking the covers around her son in upon herself.

“Oh, Merlin!” she called in a loud whisper. His head peaked through the ivory curtains. “The Duke is returning tomorrow for Arthur’s birthday celebrations. Things will be nothing short of chaos, so it might be best if you keep to Gaius’s chambers or the conservatory until the banquet.”

He nodded silently and slipped back to his room. Sure enough, the following morning he awoke before Gaius summoned him due to the rumble of footsteps over his head and the general cacophony taking place outside. Using the chair to look out his window, Merlin saw glitzy streamers being hung from the trees while a quintet set up their instruments for the outdoor festivities.

Breaking his fast with blueberries, milk, and a ham sandwich, Merlin bustled from the room with the last of his meal in his hands. Despite Ygraine’s advice, he wanted to see everything in action, to be the first to see the birthday arrangements. So far, the majority of the commotion was on the upper level in the kitchens, allowing Merlin to make his way outdoors unnoticed.

As of yet, Gaius’s lessons had only taken place in the conservatory, but past the training grounds and along the side of the castle where Merlin’s window was, awaited a whole other world of trees and gardens teeming with ladybugs and bees. Merlin passed a candy-striped totem from which colorful streamers hung, awaiting children’s hands to entwine the fabric around the pole. One of the violinists was tuning his instrument, occasionally fiddling a melody into the air.

The aromas of sugar, cinnamon, and toasted nuts brought Merlin’s attention to a flat kettle roasting its first batch of treats. Upon sighting Merlin, the middle aged man scooped the nuts into a paper cone, handing it over with a wink. Merlin beamed and thanked him before skipping to the next stretch of the yard. The nuts were rough with sugar and spice, and hot on his tongue, but they cracked deliciously between his teeth and settled pleasantly in his belly until the pouch was empty.

“Merlin!”

Gaius waved from the between the trellises of the garden, ushering Merlin across the lawn. He deemed it a fitting time to continue Merlin’s education of plants along with showing him how to prune and upkeep the garden. They had since been focusing on curing remedies, but Merlin was surprised just by how many garden residents were poisonous. Bright pink belladonna and purple nightshade bobbed in the breeze, but Gaius informed him how irises, yellow bells, lilies of the valley, calla lily, and even sweet pea and wisteria were all harmful to the body.

“AAOOOW! NO!”

Merlin’s head jerked up and swiveled, trying to find the source of the scream. Gaius squeezed his shoulder as he stood, possibly trying to tell him to stay put but Merlin followed on his heels into the trees. They were the closest to the commotion, but Merlin still wondered why no one else seemed to have heard it, why no one else was rushing toward the outcry—

Gaius halted, catching Merlin against his backside. The elder man quickly pulled Merlin toward a cluster of trees and out of sight. “What? What is it—” he tried to ask, but Gaius covered his mouth while his eyes were gazing through the trees.

Merlin pivoted to see what he was seeing, and recognized the old woman who had given him directions in town. In front of her was a young man on his knees, and further on were two men, one of which held a pistol. “…broke the law…” the wielder was saying, holding the barrel in line with the youth’s head.

“A MEDIEVAL LAW!” the woman shrieked. “WHAT HAS MY BOY DONE? HE SHOULD NOT BE PUNISHED FOR WHAT HE IS!”

“The law was relevant then, and your people keep making it relevant now,” the man declared. “Times have changed, and are still changing. Keep up, or stop making a nuisance of yourselves.”

The woman squirmed as if his words boiled across her flesh. “You speak of us like we’re vermin, but we are the children of this land, this sky. _You_ are the invaders, the destroyers, you are the VERMIN!”

Merlin flinched violently when the pistol fired. Grey smoke obscured his vision until it settled over the scene of the same figures, only the youth on his knees now lay on his side, unmoving.

The woman appeared as shocked as he felt, frozen on her feet until the man spoke once more. “Magic has been outlawed for centuries. It is forgotten, nonexistent. Druids are legends, nothing more.”

The woman stood to her full height, her long nails keeping her hands from fisting. “We do exist, and this entire world will remember us soon enough.”

“Get off of my property,” the man warned with finality. “Or we enforce punishments for trespassers as well.”

A wet growl rumbled from her throat before she spat a thick wad near his feet and marched out of the section of wall that was incomplete. As soon as she was gone, the man handed his pistol to the other and demanded, “How long does it take to repair this?”

“We’ve worked everyday, my lord,” the servant assured. “They must be tampering with our progress.”

“No longer. Finish it before tonight. I won’t have my son’s day disrupted because of this.”

_…my lord…my son’s day…_

The reality that Merlin was seeing the Duke Pendragon struck him as forcefully as the man's bullet, but the notion of who his son was made Merlin feel as if he was wading through mud. As annoying as Arthur could be, he was a sweet thing. He liked rigorous play. He only liked reading if it had pictures. He preferred sugary things.

And his father had just killed a man in front of his mother.

“You shouldn’t have seen this,” Gaius murmured, although Merlin could not tell if Gaius was scolding him or himself. Louder he uttered, “Get inside. We needn’t be out here until tonight.”

The journey inside seemed much longer than the excursion out here. Gaius pulled open a chair for him and Merlin automatically sat on it even though he felt more inclined to go back to bed. Gaius took the chair across the table from him and raked a hand through his snow and silver hair. “Merlin…do you understand what you saw?”

This seemed an odd question. How many ways could a pistol shot be misinterpreted? “He was killed because he had magic. Like me.”

“He broke the wall around the estate,” Gaius corrected. “He’s been smuggling items and money to his mother on the other side. I’ve witnessed this for some time.”

Merlin frowned. He was not overly familiar with lying, but he read enough to know when a story had holes. “Then why didn’t you tell anybody?”

“Because I’m the physician, not the guardsman,” he responded, and then admitted, “And I knew he had magic.”

“He died because of the magic, not the stolen things,” Merlin reminded in a monotone. He just wanted to go back to sleep…

Gaius sighed, trying to find a way to explain this in a way an eleven year old might comprehend it. “There were many causes for his death: the laws against thievery, destruction of property, and magic worked against him, but his mother blamed the Duke’s actions on only one of these circumstances. The religious and the scientifically aligned sorely outnumber magic users in this day and age. Uther Pendragon is unique in that he is a…bit of a chaotic neutral element. He cares neither for God nor what people get up to in their laboratories. He upholds the law, and this far away from the capital, he has to deal with people clinging to their ways and their culture.”

“Druids,” Merlin rephrased.

“Quite right,” Gaius nodded. “Long ago, magic was pushed out of this country, to make way for new religions and advancements in society.”

“Hadrian’s Wall,” Merlin reiterated again.

Gaius exhaled slowly, buying time. It was a strange balance, discussing such matters with an intelligent boy. Merlin was knowledgeable about a great deal, but he was still only eleven, a dangerously impressionable age.

“Yes…but a wall designed to keep magic out must be build by magic itself. The men commanding such a thing be built were foolish; trusting warlocks and sorcerers to ostracize their own kind. The wall was a failure. It stands now in crumbles.”

“There’s still magic in it,” Merlin declared. “It’s there for a reason. The wall goes deep underground. Why would they put so much time and magic into something for nothing?”

Gaius’s brows furrowed, but not from anger. “How do you know this?” he asked curiously.

Merlin sucked in a breath. He’d only told his mother these things… “I see it. I can see magic. The wall stands, but not above ground.”

He swallowed thickly, looking down at the table. For a long while, neither of them said anything. The silence was broken when Gaius stood and went across the room to pull one of the curtains away from the shelves. He pulled out a tome with cracked leather binding and bits of paper sticking out of it. The table shook under its weight when he set it down, but when he opened it, the pages had been carved out to conceal a smaller book.

“I’ve been working on this for you,” Gaius informed. He nodded for Merlin to take the book out of its hiding place. “I was a historian, and obsessed with antiquities before I became a physician. My collection of ancient and Medieval documents pertaining to magic is larger than anyone else’s in the world. Throughout this room are similar hiding spots, but they hold decomposing parchments, turtle shells, and just about everything that could possibly be written on. The Druids are not the only ones who bear and practice magic, but magic is a universal language in its own right. All I have done is transfer the writings to this new volume for your use. You’ll see it isn’t finished yet, but between the two of us, I think we can manage.”

Merlin opened the blue leather cover and flipped through the crisp pages. Gaius’s scrawl was neat and his transfer of drawings and symbols was equally so. Starting halfway through, the pages were blank, awaiting the rest of the knowledge hiding in this room.

“There is a great deal of power inside you, Merlin, and I want to help you master it. The world is too dangerous for you to wander it ignorantly.”

Merlin’s eyes stared at the pages, looking but not seeing what was in front of him. “Would he shoot you too…if he found this?”

The old man’s features must have appeared puzzled right then, because Merlin emphasized, “If he knew you made this…gave me this…would he shoot you too?”

“Merlin,” Gaius said firmly, but not unkindly. He leaned across the table to take the book from the petite hands and set it aside. Merlin’s fingers were cold inside his warm palms. “Listen to me very carefully: I don’t want you to worry about me. Your mother sent you here because she entrusts me with your care, because she knows that I have what you must learn. I am honored and proud of this. I very much look forward to our time together. Don’t ever worry about me.”

Merlin did not appear convinced. A shadow hung over his sapphire eyes and his hands were limp inside Gaius’s. The elder man could only hope the festivities would raise his spirits. “Get some more sleep. It may be a long evening.”

Merlin stood and left the book on the table as he shut his bedroom door behind him. Burrowing as deep as he could inside the covers, he could not say whether he slept or not, but his next conscious thought was on the knocking of his door.

“Well done,” he heard Gaius congratulate from outside.

“Can I go in now?” came an impatient voice.

“Give him time to come to the door,” Gaius advised.

“It’s my birthday! Why isn’t he awake for my birthday?” Arthur whined. “Is he coming? I want Merlin on my birthday.”

Gaius chuckled while Merlin dragged himself from the bed and laced his boots. “I hear something!” Arthur announced, and when Merlin swung the door open, Arthur stumbled inside, having pressed his body against the wood and caught himself against Merlin. “About time! Come on! They’re making toasts for me and everything! Mama says there will be ice cream and berries after the feast! The adults all stink of wine already, but there’s juice, and cream, and honeyed venison…”

Arthur reached for Merlin’s hand and chattered all the way to the banquet hall. Merlin didn’t have it in him to tell Arthur that servants were not allowed to eat with the guests, but as soon as they arrived, Arthur dropped his hand and ran off to join the other elite children. Behind him, Gaius offered a crisp, albeit humble, dinner jacket to go over his rumpled collar and took his place beside the rest of the housing staff.

After the dessert, the children were followed by their parents outside where the last of the evening light was fading over the trees. Merlin stood off to the side watching the children run their streamers around the totem. They tumbled into the grass when they were too dizzy to stand, whereas Merlin’s belly rumbled painfully with not having eaten anything since this morning.

“The fireflies like your company,” came a low voice, and Merlin startled into awareness. The man from before, who had set up his kettle, once again held out a cone of roasted nuts for him. Merlin was so hungry he accepted the offering and his eyes lifted to survey the flashes of light surrounding him. “I made those extra sugary; cooked ‘em in a syrup of my own making. Be sure to brush your teeth well tonight.”

The man’s voice was kind, and the almonds were still hot from his kettle, but when his eyes met Merlin’s they flashed gold.

The sugary coating snapped harder between Merlin’s teeth than he meant for it to. The man chuckled. “Worry not, lad. Secret’s safe with me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin mumbled weakly.

“Aye. You’re keen for your age. You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But everyone worth knowing already knows you.”

Merlin’s chin lifted. “I don’t… What are you talking about?”

“There are more of us than you think,” the man said. “Some of us are fools or downright ignorant, but we’re around. Anyone worth knowing already knows you, _Emrys._ Those of us who know how to open our golden eyes… Aye?”

His irises flashed again, mixing anonymously with the bulbs of the fireflies around them. Nevertheless, Merlin glanced anxiously around them, but no one cared whether two servants interacted, nor what their topic of conversation was. They were completely ignored.

The man plodded away, leaving Merlin with his sugary dinner and uneasy thoughts. The children had since noticed the array of fireflies in his vicinity and were scurrying around in the hopes of catching one. Merlin retreated toward the house until he spotted a table that had been brought out featuring lingering dishes from the banquet. Glancing behind him, the children were engrossed in their game, the adults were laughing over their wine glasses, and all Merlin wanted was something more substantial than candied nuts to last the night…

He didn’t see the broom marked for his head in the gloom.

“Keep your grubby hands off my dumplings!” came an unwanted, familiar voice. The robust woman Merlin had first met inside the house raised the broom handle to swing again, causing him to cram as many chicken legs, spinach dumplings, and cheese wedges into his pockets before the bristles connected with his head again.

When it did, it struck more gently, and Merlin raised his head to see why. Arthur stood between him and the cook, pounding his little fists against her apron. “Don’t hit Merlin! You can’t hit my Merlin! He’s mine! Get off!”

“Arthur,” came an authoritative baritone. A cold tendril licked its way up Merlin’s spine as he rotated to face the new threat coming his way. Uther Pendragon was a mountain of a man, towering two and a half feet above him. He had seemed smaller compared to the explosion of his pistol.

“My lord,” the cook apologized. “Beg your pardons, but I was just setting to rights the food table when my littler lord thought it right to intervene.”

“She was hitting Merlin!” Arthur reiterated. “With the broom!”

There was clearly a smirk playing on Uther’s mouth that he was failing to suppress. “What Cook does is none of your concern,” he reprimanded, but then his eyes lifted onto the servant in question. “Merlin, is it? I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Merlin had no idea what the protocol was here. Should he bow? Shake hands? He ultimately stammered, “Er-yes, sir, my lord. I arrived a week or…so…ago.”

Uther disregarded his anxiety and continued, “You haven’t been beaten with a broom too much in your brief time here, I hope? Where are you working—not the kitchens?”

“No, and no, or yes, I mean… I am Gaius’s apprentice.”

“Very good. That can’t be easy. I have known Gaius for decades and even I tire of his rants about plants. Study hard, Merlin. My son seems fond of you. He’d hate it if you took too many blows.”

He began to stride back toward the party, and Merlin heaved a sigh of relief as something struck his chest. Barely catching it, he stared up at the amused smile on Uther’s face. “If you’re hungry take the wheel, not a wedge.”

Merlin peered at the object in his hands: the rest of the cheese. Cook harrumphed behind him and sidled on her way, but a tug on his trouser leg held Merlin in place.

“Merlin…” Arthur muttered while rubbing his eye. “I don’t feel good.”

Merlin instinctively took the small hand and led the way off the lawns. Arthur’s feet began to drag as they climbed the stairs to his room, inducing Merlin to gather him in his arms to make the trip faster. Once inside the white curtains, he set Arthur on the bed and went to unload his pockets on the table. He set down his dinner jacket to catch the grease from the chicken and eagerly bit into a dumpling.

Arthur sniffled behind him, reminding him of why he’d come here. Wiping his hands, Merlin returned to the bed and felt his forehead, his neck. “You’re warm,” he commented. “Your majesty is out late with too much excitement.”

Arthur giggled weakly. “It’s my birthday.”

Merlin palmed Arthur’s head as he brushed the silky blond tresses off the boy’s face. “Even kings get sick. I’ll make you some tea.”

“Mint?” Arthur requested.

“Mint isn’t really meant for colds,” Merlin countered, “but all right.”

Taking his dumpling and a chicken leg on his way out, Merlin met Ygraine in the kitchen. Her presence was out of place here, and yet she seemed to know her way around as well as Cook. “The water’s hot if you need an extra cup,” she informed, holding her own cup close.

“Thank you…my lady,” Merlin uttered, ripping a couple sprigs from the potted jar of mint on the windowsill and lifting the pot over a mug. “Arthur’s getting a cold.”

“I suspected as much,” she nodded. “Always running around barefoot and improperly dressed…after tonight it was inevitable. Keep watch over him, won’t you?”

“Yes, my lady,” he nodded, leaving the kitchen.

“Merlin.”

He stopped.

“Arthur is small for his age…which is my fault…” He turned around. Where was she going with this? Ygraine smiled and finished, “What I’m trying to say is, even though he is small, he thinks on a large scale. You’re very patient with him, and I can’t thank you enough for that.”

He nodded uncertainly and left her alone in the kitchen. Careful not to spill, Merlin was surprised to find Arthur exactly where he had left him. Arthur reached for the mug, but Merlin held it aloft. “It’s too hot. And you’re not dressed for bed.”

“My clothes are over there,” Arthur informed, gesturing to the large bureau across the room. Merlin glanced at it and then found Arthur gazing at him expectantly. Did he expect Merlin to dress him? Did the upper class do that?

Then he remembered his first meeting with Arthur, the overlarge shirt, necklace, and paper mache crown over no undergarments at all. It was probably best not to leave Arthur to his own devices.

Finding a nightgown and large woolen socks, Merlin gradually figured out how Arthur’s buttons and straps worked. By the time Arthur was ready for bed, the tea had cooled, and Merlin sat contently at the table with his dinner.

“You’re too far away,” Arthur chided. “Sit with me.”

Cradling his meal in his jacket, he toed his shoes off and joined Arthur against the pile of pillows. He could tell Arthur was getting sleepier and weaker, though, as their silence dragged on. Arthur’s last surge of movement was leaning across the giant bed to set the mug on the bedside dresser, and then crawling back to lie beside Merlin.

This lasted a total of two minutes, and then he yanked Merlin’s jacket—now littered with bones and extra cheese—off his lap. Before Merlin could ask what he was trying to do, Arthur settled between his legs, nestling within the cradle of his hip and thigh for a pillow. His body curled between Merlin’s legs and an arm flopped over his leg, but otherwise Arthur was asleep faster than a breath on a flame.

Merlin finished the last of his dinner and withdrew a handkerchief from his trouser pocket, but his eyes alighted on the pitcher of water resting on the table. Focusing on it, he tried to coax it to him, imagining the pitcher rising off the table and floating to him so he could dampen the cloth and wash his hands—

It shattered. Merlin’s hand struck out while his other rested on Arthur, willing for not a sound to be made, begging for nothing to wake the little lord from his slumbers…

The fragments paused in the air, the water within swirling in its place before the pieces reverted back into the position they were baked. A moment later, the pitcher rested on the table with nary a scratch nor crack.

He settled for wiping his hands and cleaning under his fingernails to the best of his ability with the handkerchief. Merlin was glad for the single candle in the room, which he let burn out on its own without even trying to steer his magic in its direction. He couldn’t even move a pitcher across the room, he did not want to dare attempt to blow out a flame.

As the candle sputtered out, Merlin saw the flecks of gold in the stone shining brighter than ever, the tiny bits of magic left behind. It was everywhere, twinkling and winking back at him as the Druid had done under an hour ago on the grounds. Raising his hand in the darkness, Merlin could see the blue in his veins shimmering beneath his skin.

And he hated it.

So much essence around him, _inside_ him, and Merlin could not do anything with it. The chances of his magic working were the flip of a coin, and then it was another toss up whether it would work in his favor or not. He could hear and feel the boom of the pistol shot in his ears, and the pulse of it thundered along with his heart. It was only a matter of time before another accident happened. He was a clock running backwards. Eventually there would be another clay pitcher, only this one would shatter in front of the Duke, or in the middle of another party, and all he could see for his future was the gritty haze of gunpowder sinking over him.

Merlin realized his cheeks were slick with tears. He shakily wiped his chin and peeked down to make sure the drops had not awoken Arthur, but the boy was slumbering peacefully. More than that, his blond hair was shimmering dimly in the light. Merlin’s fingertips delicately carded through his hair, watching the slow, almost nonexistent shimmer of magic in the strands.

It was as the Druid had said: some people were ignorant to the magic inside of them, and they remained that way their entire lives, but Merlin had never seen anyone with magic threaded through their very being, as he was. The veins in Arthur’s wrists glowed ever so faintly, like Merlin’s, the same as the blood vessels in his knees and neck.

Merlin did not dare laugh at the irony of the heir of Pendragon having magic for fear of jostling his sleeping form. He doubted Arthur would ever come to know of it or how to use it, but it was a comfort to find that Merlin really wasn’t alone after all. With his fingers in Arthur’s hair, he let his golden eyes shut.

Several meters below them, Gaius recovered the letter from Hunith. He had not meant to neglect it this long, but it couldn’t be helped. Settling with a couple candles on the table, he unfolded the envelope’s contents and began to read:

_Dear Gaius,_

_How long it’s been! I’m terribly sorry for not joining my son to see you, but it is the end of harvesting season, so I am sure you will understand. How is he? Is Merlin well? I know this might seem an odd question, since I am sure you’ve already discovered his blessings, but Merlin did only turn eleven this past month, and oh…a mother always worries._

_I am also sorry for sending him to you with such short notice, but again, I know you have already deduced why I had to send my son from our home. He is so strong, Gaius. You can’t know how much yet, but I curse whatever divinity gave my son such power, capsuled inside a kind soul. And he is kind, Gaius. You will face many trying times when all Merlin wishes is to help, despite the disastrous effects. His kindness makes him strong, but it also makes him weak. The world is cruel, and I fear there is no place for such kindness._

_He does not know…perhaps because he is so young, or perhaps it is simply his nature, how he and his compassion are special. He does things without thinking, with the best of intentions, but his abilities work in this way as well. Help him, Gaius, I beg you. I know the risks you take in accepting him under your tutelage, but as your friend, and as his mother, I implore you to watch over him._

_Also…and I do not mean to frighten you with this, but try and keep his spirits high, would you? This is more for Merlin’s sake, but I won’t lie to you. The power inside him makes itself known whether he wishes it or not. He falls into melancholy if you are not careful, and this is when he is weakest to his magic—_

A harsh cracking sound split the air, startling Gaius from his reading. It sounded like thunder and glass breaking all at once, but he could not place where it was coming from—

Movement in his peripheral vision jerked his eyes downward to the book he’d given Merlin that morning. The leather was splitting into tiny veins, like lightning fissures in the sky. A second later the leather ceased it’s breaking, but the music filtering in from the outdoor quintet abruptly ended in twangs and yells, as if the instruments’ strings had snapped. His eyes briefly lifted as if to see what Merlin was doing on the floors above him, but he diverted his gaze to finish the letter:

_You will notice things, perhaps simple at first. One day all the bowls have switched cabinets with the plates, and all your clothes have turned blue. Or they might not be so simple…the roof catches fire in a torrential rain with no lightning in the sky, or all the ravens and crows in the county have made roost in your chimney. Either way, be on your guard. You will come to feel endearment when you awaken to entirely green socks, and you will quickly learn that Merlin is easily made happy. When in doubt, a rich stew and fresh berries with cream do the trick._

_All my love and regards to you and Merlin,_

_Hunith_

Gaius chuckled and lifted the book to inspect the broken leather front. “Oh Hunith, you haven’t any idea how well I know,” he muttered. “Any boy who can control time is well worth the effort.”

Some hours later, Merlin grimaced in his sleep, mumbling softly between breaths and rolling away from the voice calling him.

_Emrys._

_No, go away._

_Awaken, Emrys. It is rude to ignore those addressing you._

_It’s rude to wake people in the middle of the night,_ he combatted.

He heard laughter, echoing as if in a cavern or in his dreams. _But you’re already awake, don’t you see? And we have many things to discuss, Emrys._

_Why are you calling me that? My name’s—_

_I know your name. Strange, how I know your name before you know it yourself._

_I know my name!_ he shouted. _You’ve already woken me, now stop being arrogant and tell me yours!_

That murky, echoing laughter came again. _Your name is my name. Emrys. Eternal. You and I are both ancient in our own ways. Have you considered that you are speaking with yourself right now? A conversation with your soul? Is there a difference between one’s soul and one’s self?_

Merlin’s eyes rolled behind his eyelids. He was not dreaming deeply enough for this. _My soul is nice enough to let me sleep, unlike you. Who are you?_

_Unfortunately you took so long to answer my summons that we are out of time, but I will tell you this, Emrys: do not close your golden eyes again._

_What?_

_Keep them open,_ Merlin. _To deny what you see is to deny what you are._

 _What are you talking about?_ he demanded with frustration. _Why does everyone keep speaking—_

“—in riddles?” he finished aloud. Merlin startled awake when his head slipped from his pillow to knock onto the hard…wet ground.

He swiveled his head only to groan against the ache in his neck, which further grew into awareness of how sodden his clothes were. His vision cleared and Merlin saw that his pillow was a rock, that his bed was indeed the ground, and the wall beside him was not of his bedroom, or even Arthur’s.

He awoke beside Hadrian’s Wall.


	2. Lessons in Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three years later.

Three years later.

Merlin startled awake, but he could not say he was surprised. Grimacing against the cold ache in his joints, he glared up at the stacked rocks. At least it was not raining this time. The moon was still up and the stars were watching over him as he weakly gained his footing and started on the overly familiar path to the Pendragon Estate. By this point he was used to the cold, the way the air prickled against his skin as night changed to day. He remembered his first time waking next to the wall as vividly as ever; the baritone laughter echoing in his ears long after it called him out here when he could not say no.

The first time, Merlin had woken drenched, muddy, and frightened. He blindly ran for home and stumbled through the broken back wall of the Pendragon manor. It was mid-morning by that time, and Gaius was searching the castle from turret to cellar for him. Merlin had collapsed in his arms, weeping and starving and afraid to sleep again.

But he had to sleep. As with food, magic needed sleep. Demanded it. Craved it, and when Merlin tried his best to keep his eyes open, he was dragged down to the voice who for some reason bid him to walk through the night. He did not understand how no one noticed him strolling off of the grounds in the middle of the night, but for consecutive mornings, Merlin awoke in front of the same patch of wall, in the same scattering of rocks before making the same trek back to the castle.

“You! Get out of my kitchen! Tracking mud over my floor! You’re more of a worm than an early bird!” Cook shrieked, much as she had the first time he’d returned. He had been too deep in panic to pay her mind then, but now he simply ignored her as he passed through the morning chaos that was the kitchen.

Gaius was already awake, but he turned towards the door when Merlin entered with an expectant look on his face. “Perhaps we ought to invest in tethers.”

Merlin’s eyes rolled as he caught the blanket tossed his way. Striding to the fireplace, he ladled stew into a bowl and folded himself in an overstuffed chair. Gaius carried the book he was researching with him to an adjoining chair even though he focused on Merlin. “It’s been some time since this happened. What was it about tonight?”

Merlin heaved a sigh around his food, chewing until his mouth was empty. “The same philosophical questions and nonsense. It’s repetitive. I’m half inclined to think the voice is lonely, and drags me out of bed for company.”

“It hasn’t told you a name or what it is yet?” Gaius asked curiously. He had been immensely worried when Merlin went missing after Arthur’s sixth birthday, but his worry receded to intrigue when he observed Merlin wandering in his sleep. For the first year he walked with Merlin, equipped with blankets against the chill. Merlin’s own fear had given way to annoyance, allowing Gaius to indulge in his curiosity and try researching the problem.

Merlin shook his head around another spoonful. “The voice sounds like a man, but it only tells me to dig. Dig deeper and keep my eyes open…which is a weak argument when I’m asleep.”

Gaius frowned while his fingertips rubbed his temple. “Dig? Dig into what?”

“Probably _literally_ the ground,” Merlin scoffed around a thick bite of potato. “As if I have the time to shovel through stone between picking your herbs and being Arthur’s javelin practice target.”

Gaius’s head perked up. “He’s already moved on to the javelin?”

Merlin glared at him. “He’s not good at it.”

Gaius managed to contain his guffaw in a chuckle. He could only imagine what the eight year old got up to with a heavy spear.

The door swung open right then, revealing the lanky blond boy with his overlong hair tied back off his face. Merlin peeked over his shoulder with wide eyes and full cheeks. “Merlin! You’re late for training!”

Arthur strode to stand between Merlin and the fireplace. Those brilliant blue eyes scanned him once and he proclaimed, “I know you’ve been awake; if you have time to eat you have time to train.”

“For what?” Merlin fired before he limply added, “my lord. I set bones, I don’t break them.”

“Then we need you to set bones! Leon sprained his wrist yesterday. Where were you?”

“A sprain only needs a compress, and I was probably doing your laundry or something,” Merlin informed.

Arthur’s red lips twisted in a smirk. “Mother’s maids do my laundry.”

“Then I was polishing your father’s boots.”

“Papa has a steward for them,” Arthur retorted confidently.

“The horses need tending.”

“We have stable hands,” Arthur countered.

“Servants’ tasks are interchangeable,” Merlin declared.

“Your Gaius’s apprentice. Why would you do anything other than what he says?” Arthur cornered.

“If he wants me out of his way I help someone else,” Merlin answered quickly.

“When I came for you he said you were in the library,” Arthur finished with a blatant look of disappointment. “It’s just like you to read instead of doing something productive. Gaius, do you need him today?”

Merlin sent imploring eyes toward his mentor, who answered dutifully, “Not if my lord requires him.”

Arthur beamed as if he’d just found Cook’s store of chocolate. “Come on, then! I feel stronger, today. I think I can properly throw the javelin this time!”

He sprinted out of the room, leaving Merlin looking defeated over his stew. Gaius laughed beside him. “I’m sorry. I’ll retrieve you in a little while.”

“What’s left of me,” Merlin responded, before he spooned as much as he could into his mouth, went to lace on his boots, and begrudgingly followed Arthur outside. Fortunately, the boy had gotten sidetracked by archery, which called for Merlin to do nothing more than stand behind him with his quiver of arrows. Archery was Arthur’s first fondness, and his devotion to it earned a cluster of arrows inside the stained red center of the target.

Javelin throwing captured his attention once all of his arrows were shot. Merlin trudged to the rack where the javelins specially carved for Arthur stood. Merlin silently thanked the training master for having smaller spears crafted for the young duke; he was not going to be the one to tell Arthur there were taller, heavier, and sharper versions to train with.

Another blessing came in the form of the trainer himself taking Arthur off to the side to practice his technique without throwing involved. Merlin used the time to escape to the garden nearby, where he busied himself with picking wilted leaves off the plants before Gaius scolded him for lackluster upkeep. Sleepwalking was hardly an excuse to get out of chores since Merlin was still technically sleeping, in Gaius’s view.

“Merlin!”

_“Oh sweet hell,”_ he cursed under his breath. Louder answered, “Yes, my lord?”

“Training is over _there,”_ Arthur pointed. With his feet planted wide, he squinted down at Merlin critically. “You’re really not good at this, are you?”

“What’s that, my lord?” Merlin asked quizzically.

“Everything,” Arthur answered without missing a beat.

Merlin’s expression fell. “I haven’t done anything yet,” he countered.

“Exactly! Doing nothing is the same as being bad at everything!” Arthur declared as he gripped the nape of Merlin’s shirt and hauled him to his feet in the direction of the training grounds. Merlin was told to set up targets at varying distances and to stand by in order to gather javelins or adjust the targets.

This was Merlin’s least favorite part.

For some reason Arthur deemed it necessary to try for the farthest target, which Merlin foolishly chose to stand near for safety. Arthur was aggravatingly strong for an eight year old but his aim was underdeveloped. After ducking, dodging, and swerving his hips out of the way of bluntly spiked steel, Merlin started glaring at the castle doors, waiting for Gaius or anyone to intervene.

_CKA-BOOHW!_

Merlin flinched as the explosion of primer and powder erupted, splitting the air and rattling his eardrums. Several yards away Leon waved smoke from his face, his coppery auburn curls bobbing. “Sorry, Merlin! I’ll give warning next time!”

His heart pummeled against the inside of his chest as he warily turned back toward Arthur, whose guffaw was dwindling. “Don’t be so scared, Merlin. The firearm targets are in the opposite direction.”

He chose not to defend himself in that moment, instead gritting his teeth and forcing his lungs back into something resembling natural respiratory function. Yanking javelins out of the earth, Merlin slid them back into the rack for the next round. Arthur had gotten distracted and went over to speak with Leon, who was twice Arthur’s age at sixteen. Merlin only heard a piece of their conversation: “When…with the pistols?”

“Uh…” Leon answered warily. His hazel eyes lifted to meet Merlin’s, and for once someone understood his anguish. The overeager lord was going to get somebody killed. “Best to wait until my age,” Leon improvised. “These things are small but they kick like a horse.”

The training master came to everyone’s rescue. “My lord! It’s time for your sparring session!”

Arthur eagerly ran to select his sword for the day and Merlin gratefully returned to the garden. There was something immensely relieving with digging his fingers into soil where the only adversaries were insects or mold. Of these two, Merlin found the latter in the form of cloudy blue, almost black spots on the tomato leaves. He made a mental note to ask Gaius to make a baking soda mixture to add to the soil to combat the fungi. He also snatched a basket when Cook was not looking so he could pick the strawberries before the beetles got to them—

“AAH!”

The bash and clash of metal instantly silenced. In a field of men, only one voice could reach that high a pitch, and it jerked Merlin’s head right out of the strawberry bushes. Leaving the basket where it was, he sprinted over to where Arthur lay on the ground, pale as a sheet. He was desperately holding his arm, but Merlin saw immediately what was wrong.

_“Move,”_ he ordered. “His shoulder’s dislocated.”

Despite the trainees being the sons of friends to the Pendragon name, they parted like a sea for Merlin, giving way to the needs of the dukedom’s heir. Merlin kneeled in front of the frighteningly pale boy and said calmly, “Arthur, the sooner we get this fixed, the sooner it will heal. Do I have permission to help you?”

Arthur’s eyes were blown wide and for a moment Merlin feared he was too far in shock to have heard him, but then his head trembled in a vertical nod. With delicate fingers, Merlin slipped underneath the fabric of his shirt and inspected how the joint was out of socket. His own exhale was shaky—this was going to be painful.

As if hearing his thoughts, the training master approached with a strip of leather. “Here, my lad. Bite this.”

Arthur managed to open his jaws enough for the leather to be wedged in, and Merlin spared a moment to wipe away the sweat adorning his brow. His palm cradled Arthur’s head as he asked. “Ready?”

Sandy lashes swooped up and Arthur’s topaz blue eyes firmly fixed on him. Merlin aligned his body with Arthur’s, held his wrist and elbow in a firm hold, and set to work. First rotating the forearm and watching Arthur’s expressions for how much pain he was in. A tiny _pop!_ was heard, and the boy breathed a loud sigh of relief.

“Not finished yet,” Merlin countered, and then pivoted the arm again by the elbow and wrist. _Like winding a clock…_ he could hear Gaius mentoring inside his memory. Arthur’s jaws parted in a silent scream before a louder, sickeningly wet pop sounded and the lump of bone slid back into the shoulder. Merlin quickly but carefully folded Arthur’s arm over his torso like a broken wing with the statement, “Keep that still.”

He then stepped over Arthur to crouch on his uninjured side, and scooped the boy into his arms. Arthur was certainly heavier than his six year old self, but with adrenaline and magic pumping in the elder boy’s veins, Arthur’s slumped form weighed practically nothing.

Cook whirled around at the disturbance in her kitchen, but her thin lips quickly snapped shut at the reason for it. “My arm hurts,” Arthur whispered weakly against his neck.

“It’s going to hurt for a while,” Merlin informed sadly. “But you’ll be good as new soon enough.”

Gaius looked up when Merlin deftly flicked the latch to open the door. He discretely closed the blue book within its larger hiding place as he stood to meet them. “He dislocated his shoulder,” Merlin informed tersely as he strode past him to lay Arthur on his own bed. Just as quickly, he dashed out of the room saying, “Make sure I did it right!”

“Where are you going?” Arthur exclaimed.

“I’ll be back!” Merlin called, but his voice was already mumbled by distance. He was out the door before Cook could say anything, but she gave him a dark glare when he returned and dominated her sink to wash the strawberries.

“Unless those are going into my tarts, I suggest you make yourself scarce.”

“They’re for Arthur,” Merlin countered firmly. “And your strawberry tarts need cinnamon.”

He left her gaping behind him as he opened what appeared to be a closet door, but actually revealed a thin stairwell descending to the lowest levels of the Pendragon Estate. The sour aroma of mold and algae wrinkled Merlin’s nose. He was convinced that too much exposure down here could ruin a person’s lungs, but it was cold enough to freeze water. A candle was always lit beside the door, which he grasped to light his way. The orange glow glimmered back at him from the dripping, black walls. The floor slanted downwards and the walls dried to make way for the chill. Merlin’s breath fogged around his face like cold butterfly wings as he found the buckets of ice and their chisel.

The steel paradoxically burned against his skin, but he set the basket down and chipped enough ice to make a compress for Arthur’s shoulder—

_Emrys._

Merlin nearly kicked over the basket. His spine shot erect and he whirled around towards the voice in his dreams. The candle licked the air tranquilly beside him, but otherwise he was alone. Shaking his head rigorously, Merlin picked up the chisel again while muttering, “You’re going batty.”

_Open your eyes, Emrys._

Merlin’s arm shot out the same moment a gust of frigid air swept over him. The chisel flew threw the empty breeze and struck the wall with enough force to shower sparks across the floor. “They are open! You can’t control me when I’m awake!”

The air currents tickled his face and neck, chilling the dewy sweat there. The very space trembled, and Merlin could feel the rumble of laughter through the air. He grabbed the basket of strawberries and ice and rushed out of the cellar, grimacing as the laughter ricocheted louder in his ears with every step.

“Merlin.”

He gasped and dropped the basket. Ice clattered over the floor where Gaius intercepted Merlin in the doorway of his rooms. Merlin bent to retrieve the basket before it toppled onto its side. He did not want to risk Cook’s wrath by having to wash the berries again—

“Merlin,” Gaius repeated sternly. He grasped the boy’s skinny shoulders and held firm, bringing Merlin’s attention upward. “Breathe. Your eyes are gold.”

Merlin blinked and his eyes darted to the door of his room where Arthur rested. It was open a crack, but not enough for them to see Arthur or vice versa. Merlin felt his face press against Gaius’s soft linen button up as he was enclosed inside the old man’s embrace. “Is this about Arthur or did something happen?”

Merlin shook his head, feeling the edge of Gaius’s woolen waistcoat against his nose. “I heard him.”

“Him? The voice from your dreams?” Merlin nodded and Gaius reflected, “I don’t suppose you took a two minute nap downstairs. This development is troubling.”

Merlin sniffled against the soft _pum-pum_ of Gaius’s heart. “I don’t want to hear it asleep or awake. I don’t want to sleep walk anymore. I want to belong to myself.”

Gaius’s hold tightened around him, protecting Merlin from the invisible demon in his dreams, and now his waking thoughts. Gaius often stayed up late just to make sure Merlin was sleeping soundly, and followed him when he did not, but the miles worked against his overripe age. He and Merlin were grateful for the periods of silence that occurred every so often, but they had no pattern or reason. Gaius knew that even with Merlin’s young body, he felt drained, and more regularly he was so lost in his own thoughts that it took a smack on the head from Cook or a shaking from Gaius to rouse him.

“I know,” Gaius purred, lightly raking his fingers through Merlin’s inky tresses. If he could calm the turbulent waters of the mind beneath, he would. “We will work through this. For now, breathe and attend to Arthur. He’s dreadfully quiet in there.”

Merlin sniffed a final time and stepped back to wipe his eyes. He piled some herbs into a mortar along with a burlap pouch before glancing at Gaius. Seeing ocean blue eyes he nodded, and Merlin pushed his way into his room.

Arthur was staring out the window with ruddy eyes, but his cheeks were dry. Merlin knew he was trying hard not to cry against the pain, so he placed the berries near Arthur’s good arm and settled on the end of the bed to focus on his task. He loosely ground eucalyptus and other soothing, aromatic herbs to add to the ice inside the pouch. Laying a towel over Arthur’s shoulder, Merlin situated the compress and popped a strawberry into his mouth.

“Aren’t you going to say it?” Arthur grumbled.

“Say what, my lord?” Merlin quietly, grinding another batch of herbs for the compress he would need in a couple hours. The pestle moved about the mortar in a quick swirl of motion, twisting with experience.

Arthur wiggled on the bed, shifting his weight more out of emotional discomfort than pain. “That you did something right…that I made a muck of things…”

“I wouldn’t dare, my lord,” Merlin answered, doing his best to keep a smile from curving his lips.

“Good,” Arthur declared with finality, but then he surprised Merlin with, “Why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m busy,” Merlin lied. He had already ground the ingredients to a fine mushy consistency, but he kept grinding. He couldn’t tell an eight year old he was avoiding his gaze for Arthur’s own self-esteem. He couldn’t tell Arthur he did not trust himself with meeting his gaze.

The innards of the mattress scrunched when Arthur leaned forward on his knees and turned Merlin’s chin himself. The compress fell with a sloppy sound but Merlin froze where he was, staring into the determined look on Arthur’s face. He waited for a flinch, a frown, _something_ that meant his eyes were not behaving themselves…

“Your eyes are different,” Arthur stated. Merlin’s heart pounded in his throat and ears. He wondered if Arthur could hear it. “Were you…crying?”

Merlin blinked vacantly, not making sense of his words. Laughter bubbled from Arthur’s throat as Merlin once again felt his face smushed against linen. With his good arm, Arthur hooked Merlin’s neck and held him close. It was not the most comfortable of circumstances, but he was positioned right next to Arthur’s heart thrumming strongly in his chest. Arthur smelled oddly nice despite the sweat soaked through the fabric. His laundry was washed with lilac water.

“You’re so dense!” Arthur exclaimed. “People don’t cry over broken shoulders!”

“Dislocation,” Merlin corrected. “I think even you would cry over a broken shoulder.”

“Nuh uh,” Arthur refuted, releasing Merlin to fix him with what he thought was an authoritative glare. “I haven’t cried yet.”

“Mm hm,” Merlin hummed, placing the compress back on his shoulder.

“It doesn’t even hurt right now.”

“Mmm,” he nodded affirmatively, refusing to state the obvious. Instead he indirectly said, “Is there anything else I can do for you, my lord?”

Arthur’s gaze immediately dropped to the strawberries. “I want a glass of milk.”

Merlin nodded as he said, “I’ll bring it up to your room with these.”

“Why not here?” Arthur stopped him.

“Because this is my room,” Merlin said bluntly.

“It’s closer to the kitchen,” Arthur reminded. “Why can’t I stay here?”

“Because this is a servant’s room,” Merlin uttered.

“I’m here all the time,” Arthur scoffed.

Merlin rubbed his eyelid, wondering if he was the right person to tell him how the hierarchy of servant and duke worked. As if to emphasize his right to be here, Arthur added, “You’re in my room every day.”

“Because you ask me to bring you things; because I help with the linens and Ygraine asks me for certain chores. You’re in the same corridor, making it convenient to serve the both of you. I’m in your room because it is my job. It’s not normal for you to be in mine.”

Arthur’s confident smile fell. “You mean…if Mother didn’t ask you, you wouldn’t come to see me?”

“I didn’t say that,” Merlin uttered quickly. Grasping Arthur’s waist, he set him on his feet beside the bed. He rummaged through the winter side of his bureau for a scarf and tied it into a sling that also held the compress in place. “I only mean that most people think dukes shouldn’t interact with servants more than necessary.”

“Well most people are thick, aren’t they?” Arthur countered. Merlin’s brows reached for his hairline but this time he could not stifle his laughter. Arthur’s expression brightened at the sound.

“A good few, yes, but it’s our job to be smart for them,” he responded, grabbing the basket off the bed. “On your way, your majesty. I’ll be up soon.”

“Soon!” Arthur urged, and moved as fast as his injury allowed him. Merlin shook his head, not understanding where such stamina came from. Arthur was all or nothing. He sprinted to where he was going or he lay statuesque where he was, there was rarely an in between. The very air seemed to know this as the dust particles sparkled boldly in his wake.

Merlin rubbed his eyes, willing his magic to simmer down. He could not wander the mansion with the risk of his eyes turning gold every time he felt an emotion.

Luckily Cook was out of the kitchen when Merlin came for the milk, and when he climbed the stairs to Arthur’s room he found Ygraine seated with her son on the massive bed. She seemed amused and stern while she patiently listened to Arthur’s retelling of how he injured his shoulder. “I’ve told you before how you shouldn’t spar with Leon. You must wait until you’re bigger.”

“I was _fine,”_ Arthur complained with a roll of his eyes. “I just looked away for a moment and it happened too quickly…”

“What distracted you?” she wondered. Her keen gaze noticed how Arthur’s mouth opened and then closed, reluctant to reveal his mistake. Merlin gently knocked on the table to announce his presence. Arthur perked up, grateful for the excuse not to answer. “Ah…Merlin,” Ygraine breathed with relief. Her eyes crinkled on the sides with her smile. “Thank you for patching up my son…again.”

“Mmhmmm?” Arthur interjected, his mouth already full of milk.

“Yes, again,” Ygraine cornered. “This is the third injury this month, and we haven’t even reached halfway.”

“The others were nothing,” her son refuted.

“A sprained ankle, a black eye, and a head wound are not nothing,” she elaborated.

“That was barely a scratch! It’s not my fault so much blood came out,” Arthur exclaimed. “And the black eye was Leon’s fault. His elbows are too big for his arms.”

Ygraine snorted delicately in her throat but pushed on, “And your ankle?”

Arthur’s reply was delayed. “There are gophers in the grounds.”

That made Merlin glance over his shoulder dubiously. Ygraine met his gaze with a similar expression. “I hadn’t thought we had gophers in this country. We should have the grounds explored for this marvel.”

Arthur nodded affirmatively. “And stop them from digging holes that trip people.”

Merlin’s eyes lolled in their sockets as he turned around, earning a giggle from the Duchess. “Well it cannot be helped. We will just have to fill the extra time with your studies.”

There was a heavy pause before Merlin halted at the sound of his name. “Merlin,” Arthur called anxiously. He had reached the ivory curtains, intending to leave but he turned at the note of distress in Arthur’s tone. Studies meant reading, and Arthur hated reading.

Ygraine shook her head chidingly. “You can’t use Merlin to get out of this. He has important things he must be doing, as do you.”

Arthur’s good shoulder slumped. “All he’s going to do is play in the garden or stare at pictures of plants.”

“If the play was not work, then you would do it,” she shot back. “As it is, you won’t be swinging any swords with that shoulder any time soon.”

“What about my other arm?” Arthur piped.

His mother was visibly intrigued, but she held her ground. “If you wish to pursue an ambidextrous lifestyle be my guest--tomorrow. Today, you study.”

Arthur lay back against his pillows, his lips puckering in a pout. “There must be something dangerous to my brain with too much reading.”

His lashes kissed his cheeks when his mother’s hand brushed over his hair. “Heaven forbid you grow any better at arguing, my love. Alas, filling that head with knowledge will only work against my favor.”

Arthur’s eyes slid over to her. “What do you mean?”

Ygraine leaned forward mischievously. “Knowledge is power, and when all those annoying little symbols found in books fill your head, you have an arsenal at your disposal.”

The pads of her fingers tapped rhythmically on Arthur’s forehead, garnering sweet giggles from him. His eyes crossed when a single finger rested on the tip of his nose. “But only if you take the time to read them,” she finished. Rising from the bed, she selected a volume from the bookshelf on the wall adjacent to his bed. She opened it to a selected chapter and set it across his lap. “I expect a full report when I return,” she warned. Arthur’s brows furrowed determinedly as she strolled with Merlin out of the room.

“Would it trouble you if I joined you in the garden?”

Merlin gazed up at her. “I don’t understand, my lady. You can go anywhere. You are not a trouble.”

A full-bodied laugh sang from her chest. “You do me a great kindness, Merlin, but I know too many chefs break the kitchen as well as too many gardeners spoil the plants. I like your company, but I won’t take you away from your duties.”

After a moment he nodded. “I’d like that, my lady. You won’t bother me.”

And it was true. Ygraine often spent her time outside, even tending the plants, but Merlin appreciated the company as he harvested cuttings for Gaius’s recipes. He liked the Duchess’s keen yet sharp sense of humor as she trimmed her favorite flowers. “If I may ask,” he said after a time, “do you really think Arthur is reading?”

Ygraine guffawed. “Oh no, I’d wager he is sound asleep, as he should be. The little fool would irreparably break himself if we let him. Can I count on you to make a fresh compress when he wakes?”

“I already have the ingredients ready, my lady,” Merlin confirmed. “Just add ice.”

She grinned, “Wonderful. You’re indispensible, Merlin.”

This caught him off guard but only briefly. He shrugged as he returned to mixing fresh soil around the bases of the plants. “Gaius is better than me. He knows more.”

“Mmm,” Ygraine hummed while she fiddled with the stems of her flowers. “He has more years than you, but you bring a certain…puissance to the medical field. I believe Gaius uses eucalyptus for his cold poultices, but you add something else to the hot compresses you bring me…is it acorn squash?”

“Pumpkin, my lady,” Merlin corrected. “And cinnamon, but it’s just for scent. It doesn’t do anything. The heat is what soothes your aches.”

“Nevertheless,” she contradicted, “I believe a great deal of healing comes from the mind, and fragrances have a curious influence over our emotions and memories. Do you remember what your mother smells like?”

Instantly, he did. Merlin could feel his mother’s presence as if it were she standing beside him. She always smelled of fresh laundry, soil, and the honey cakes she made regularly. “Yes,” he answered softly.

There was a pause and then she said, “I’m sorry. You must miss her dearly. She surely misses you.”

“She’s not all that far away,” Merlin assured, “and we write. Sometimes she sends me things.”

“Oh?” Ygraine smiled. “What does she send you?”

“Her cakes, even though they’re stale when they get here,” Merlin informed. “Pressed flowers from our fields…things like that.”

“She is incredibly brave to send you to us.” Ygraine knelt beside him. In the corner of his eye, he could see the pastel green of her gown press into the dirt. “I’m not sure what we would do without you.”

She placed something on Merlin’s head. He recognized the soft crunch of leaves and stems in his hair, but when he reached up he was surprised to find a wreath of flowers. “You would get by, my lady,” he said quietly, averted his gaze downward.

He trembled lightly as her hand touched the underside of his chin. She guided his eyes back to her, only for them to close as she pressed a single kiss between his brows. “You’re a good boy, Merlin, and one day you will be a great man. Great men are irreplaceable.”

Her thumb stroked his cheek as she stood, her upward momentum removing her hand. “I don’t want Gaius to find me distracting you.”

Merlin suddenly felt cold, as if she were the sun and the clouds had already stolen her away. “He wouldn’t scold you, my lady.”

She laughed, “You’d be surprised. Gaius and I have known each other for a long time. That sort of bond surpasses ‘milords’ and ‘miladies’. He is very protective of you, and I shan’t be the one to induce his wrath.”

Merlin smiled. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Gaius get angry.”

“Obviously you’re his favorite, then,” she sassed, picking up her skirts. “Come to my rooms tonight. Bring Gaius with you. We’ll have ourselves an informal dinner.”

“Yes, my lady.” Merlin watched her go with his hand on his head, feeling the rosebuds and unique shape of snowdrop blossoms. The more he fiddled with the wreath, purple petals fell, revealing wisteria vines holding it all together. Merlin smiled to himself and refrained from touching it more, wanting to keep it just the way she’d made it.

By the time evening came, Merlin’s back was warm from the sun and he quickly bathed using the wash basin, although he made more of a mess on the floor in the process. After all of his nights spent lying in soil and grass, he had needed a method of cleaning quickly and easily. Gaius couldn’t be bothered with dragging the copper tub in every morning. He made a point to gently set his flower crown on his bedside table. He had already endured Cook’s whooping cackle at the sight of it.

When Merlin exited his room, Gaius met him with a familiar parchment envelope. Vines of forget-me-not blossoms were drawn on it, telling him instantly that it was from his mother. The parcel was bloated from overfilling, and its innards rustled when Merlin squeezed it. In his excitement he tore the envelope in half, spilling the flattened clippings to the floor.

Except when they landed on the stone, it was with the hush of petals so full and lush it was inconceivable how they filled the envelope to begin with. Gaius smiled as Merlin picked a lingering flower from the folds of the letter, and watched its fragile stem elongate into a green length, the discolored petals blossoming anew into the waxy starburst of a pink chrysanthemum. Various window ledges around the room held the bouquets from other letters Hunith had sent them. Gaius was tempted to leave them throughout the castle, except the flowers Merlin resurrected tended to last quite longer than the blooms taken from the garden. 

“Read her words later,” he advised. “We’re expected at dinner.”

Merlin stuffed the letter inside his blue waistcoat and quickly gathered the flowers from the floor. Finding a vase, he filled it with water and stuffed it with the emerald clover, pink chrysanthemums, and blue sprigs of forget-me-nots.

Balancing the vase in the crook of his elbow, he and Gaius took it upon themselves to carry the platters of food up to the Duchess’s rooms. Her maids had already spread a fine, white cloth over the long table and brought up silver carafes of wine and water. Merlin set the bouquet off to the side so it was visible but not in the way of conversation.

“Arthur!” came a muffled call from beyond the curtains, but almost immediately the Lady Ygraine and her son emerged from the corridor, his cheeks rosy from his haste.

“Sit next to me, Merlin!” he chimed, climbing onto the tall seat with his arm in a fresh sling.

“Darling this hair,” Ygraine sighed, brushing his blond locks back as he moved past her. “You’ll have it cut on the morrow.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Arthur commented, his eyes set on the plum pudding at the end of the table.

Gaius chuckled heartily. “When we’re old and when we’re young nothing bothers us. The time in between is turmoil.”

Ygraine was glancing at the window before she was distracted from sitting down by the bouquet. She reached out to move the vase closer. Her fingertips slid along the medallions of clover petals and dusted across the blue flowers fondly the same moment her eyes flicked up to Merlin handling the silverware. His gaze met her quizzical one, and a bashful smile pulled his gaze back down. Ygraine’s eyes were affectionate, her smile pleased.

Merlin poured himself and Arthur water as well as mixing it with wine for Gaius and Ygraine. “Would you like some?” Gaius asked before he set the carafe down.

“Try some,” Ygraine insisted. “White wine is sweeter than red. You might like it.”

“It may help you sleep,” Gaius seconded discretely. Merlin thought about it and topped off his glass. Ygraine and Arthur filled their plates first, and Gaius loaded green beans baked with bacon onto his plate before passing the platter to Merlin. He finished a serving of creamy chicken soup and then dived into his fried apples, turkey, and beans. The diluted wine shocked him with how simultaneously it could be sweet and sour, but it washed down his food nicely. He mostly listened to Gaius and Ygraine’s conversation, shaking his head every time Arthur tried to shove mashed peas onto his plate.

“Eat your greens or no pudding,” his mother warned when she noticed.

“Papa says I need meat to grow big,” Arthur countered.

“Your father is rushing back here as we speak. Do you want him to hear you haven’t been eating properly over breakfast?”

Arthur frowned forlornly as if this was a low blow. “No,” he grumbled.

Merlin’s fork was hovering between his waiting lips, and then settled upon his plate with finality. He had completely forgotten the Duke was to be returning late tonight. Uther Pendragon was home seven months of the year, and it was both the best and the worst time when he lived in his castle. In the three years Merlin had been here, he had yet to decide how he felt about the Duke; when his arms went around his wife, Ygraine shined, but his temper sometimes made even Arthur recede into himself. And behind it all was a gunshot echoing in Merlin’s memory.

He went without pudding, but after Arthur finished his Ygraine requested, “Merlin, would you check Arthur’s arm and put him to bed?”

“But Papa’s coming home,” Arthur declared.

“Not until an hour when boys should be asleep,” Ygraine countered. “When you are a grown man you can spend your nightly hours as you wish, but until then, do as Merlin tells you.”

Merlin’s eyes widened but his chest puffed a bit, proud to be entrusted. Arthur, however, marched to his rooms with determined irritability. “Why do _you_ get to do as you like?” he questioned while Merlin finagled his clothes off for sleepwear. “You’re not much older than me.”

“I wouldn’t call this doing what I like,” Merlin muttered, barely dodging a rogue elbow.

Arthur huffed. “Growing up takes so _long._ I want be tall like Leon and old like you.”

Merlin’s face dropped in a comical frown. “Leon’s older than me.”

“But you get to do things!”

“No I don’t,” Merlin combatted as he carefully lowered the nightgown over Arthur’s shoulders. “Stay small, Arthur. It’s like Gaius said: everything’s easier when you’re small.”

“No it isn’t,” he argued. “I have to ask for everything higher than me. It’s embarrassing. And everyone’s stronger than me—you!”

Merlin’s brows shot up when a slim finger poked his nose. “Even you! You’re skinny like a tree and you can lift me up!”

He could not very well tell Arthur that he was still small for his age, nor that his strength was aided by magic, so he settled with, “The pain in your shoulder is making you think strangely. I’m an apprentice to a physician. I’m expected to be able to lift people.”

He plucked the tie from Arthur’s hair carefully so he did not aggravate the sensitive scalp. When he turned to toss it onto the table, a _thwap!_ hit his arm. Merlin peered at the back of a brush Arthur had wacked him with. Silently gesturing to the bed, Merlin followed Arthur and positioned himself behind him, standing while Arthur sat on the mattress. The latter would never admit he liked having his hair brushed, but Merlin suspected one of his reasons for avoiding scissors was for this.

Merlin was not sure if the light glinting off the wheat-gold strands was from the oil lamp or magic, but he chose not to think about it. The recent ritual of brushing Arthur’s hair before bed was as calming for him as it was for Arthur, and deep down Merlin liked being reminded of how Arthur was unique, like him. He liked seeing someone else who had magic particles sparking in their veins.

The silky hair flopped over his fingers as he brushed it in sections, first one way and then another. Merlin was careful around Arthur’s ears and hairline, gently pulling his head back against his chest so he could see that he was not poking Arthur’s eyes with the bristles. The blonde became pliant to Merlin’s touch, his neck soft as his head was moved this way and that. It came to a point where Merlin’s splayed hand supported one side of Arthur’s head while the other brushed, stealing time away from the inevitable sleep awaiting him.

But stiffness began to return to Arthur's neck and Merlin knew his scalp had had enough. Merlin set the brush down and guided the lethargic Arthur under his sheets. By the time he unscrewed the glass chimney of the lamp and blew out the flame, Arthur’s lashes were closed.

As Merlin descended to his room, the velvet curtains of Ygraine’s room silenced her discussion with Gaius from eavesdroppers. Her laughter dwindled as her gaze lingered on the open window. The breeze smelled of rain.

Her eyes returned to the flowers standing prettily on the table. “I’m surprised at you, Gaius,” she remarked. “I would have thought you’d tell Merlin the flowers he picked were not native to our corner of paradise.”

Gaius coughed on his wine, abruptly setting down his glass with a clatter. Ygraine chortled and waited for him to recover, setting her chin on her hand and gazing at him expectantly. “He didn’t pick them. His mother sent them today.”

Her features opened. “Oh! He’s capable of that…I imagine they were quite wilted…” She reached once more toward the blossoms, feeling their various textures. “What does it mean that he gave them to me?”

“To be fair,” Gaius reminded, “you gave him a crown of flowers. Cook is probably still laughing about it, and I don’t think it means any more than he is grateful to have a kind figure overseeing his life. We all are. Most servants are employed by cruel masters…but I did not know you knew.”

Her eyes returned to him. “About Merlin’s _gifts?_ Of course I knew. Someone needs to be observant in this place. It’s bad enough the perimeter wall hasn’t been fixed in the three years since it mysteriously shattered. The entire castle might crumble without my eyes on it.”

Gaius hummed contemplatively as he rubbed his temple. “I have theories regarding that.”

Ygraine sipped from her wine and encouraged, “Is little Merlin the cause? That does not seem his style.”

Gaius grinned. “No, no, destruction is not the sort of person he is. I think there is someone…some _thing_ else to blame.”

_Hello again, Emrys._

Merlin sighed. He liked to think he could feel the fringe of cold and damp of night around his dreams, as if he retained a semblance of control over this situation.

_You don’t sound happy to see me, Emrys._

_When have I ever? Especially since I don’t_ see _anything._

_Because your eyes aren’t open._

_I’m asleep!_ Merlin accused haughtily.

_Not your physical eyes,_ the voice sighed, jaded. _Must I spell everything out for you?_

_Yes,_ Merlin finished. If playing dumb sped this up, all the better.

_If you opened your eyes, we wouldn’t have to do this every night,_ the voice sassed.

_If you didn’t enchant me out here we wouldn’t have to do this,_ Merlin returned.

The entity sighed again. _I forget how truly young you are._

_Don’t bring my age into this,_ Merlin retorted. _It’s your fault for being so vague. I can’t read minds!_

Without warning the voice boomed _HAHAHAHA!_ The laughter reverberated throughout Merlin’s skull painfully. He felt as if he was slammed by a massive wave, tossed aside and rolling in its throes until he crashed ungracefully on a shore.

_Yet, Merlin. You will, yet._

His chest heaved even though he knew he was not actually caught in a lake or ocean…at least he hoped. _I don’t want to read people’s minds! What people say is bad enough, why would I want to be in their heads?_

_Because once you keep your eyes open you will see how magic is everywhere, even in those ignorant of it. The difference between us and them, is there are those who wield it, or those cursed to never feel its embrace._

_My situation is arguably worse,_ Merlin retorted. _Regular people don’t have you plaguing their dreams._

A much softer chuckle rippled through his thoughts. _Everyone needs motivation._

_What is that supposed to mean?_

_It means…well, you might understand in time._

_Don’t do that!_ Merlin snapped. _Tell me now! You’re so bloody infuriating! You remind me of the prat I have to deal with back home!_

_You mean Arthur._

Merlin suddenly felt cold, as if he was hyper aware of the night's breeze across his skin…but just as quickly felt heat simmering under his sternum. _I’ve never told you about him. You have no right coming inside my head at all, let alone snooping around my memories._

That chuckle again. _Precious. You’re so protective of him already._

_You’re fucking imprudent as always!_

_Language, language, Merlin. Where did you learn such talk?_

_Not like I need to tell you. You’re just tra-la-la-ing around my head, go ahead and tell me where I learn things—which, isn’t_ you. _I can feel my brain matter disintegrating the longer I talk to you!_

_I can’t recall the young ever being this dramatic,_ the voice commented quizzically. _Perhaps this is Arthur’s effect on you: his ability to peel back your rigid layers to reveal the imbecilic dollop underneath._

_Don’t insult me!_ Merlin exclaimed. _And if anyone’s a dollop, it’s him! He runs around with hair in his eyes and is too stupid to recognize that he isn’t ready to throw a bloody javelin at my head—not that I ever want him to be ready for that—and all he wants to do is eat sweets! He hates reading! I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t read!_

_What do you expect?_ the baritone challenged. _You are complimentary to one another. His edges are shiny where your surfaces are dull, and vice versa. You are each other’s other half._

_Wait. What?_ he muttered, deadpan.

_You and Arthur make the greatest currency of this world, Emrys. Two halves of a coin that nothing in this world can trade._

_I’m the shinier half, obviously,_ he grumbled.

_Either way,_ the voice insisted, _The two of you have a lot of work to do. The sooner you set upon it the better._

_What is that?_ Merlin exclaimed peevishly. _Ironing his shirts and polishing his boots so he can waltz around with javelins marked for my heart?_

The baritone echoed around his skull, the laugh that was loaded with a meaning Merlin could not decipher. _Perhaps. The sooner you remove the chill from your heart, the sooner we can both be free. We can’t live in stone boxes, Emrys. We aren’t meant to._

_I’m not digging you out of whatever section of wall you’re buried under! How do I know you weren’t put there for good reason?_

_Everything I do for myself, I do for you,_ he declared. _We are separate and unique, yet one and the same._

_Oh sweet hell…_

_You might do well to keep your ears as well as your eyes open, Emrys, and hear me. You can’t stop being what you are. Once you realize this, you will see me._

_I don’t want to see you,_ Merlin countered weakly, his last defenses dwindling. He sounded like a child in his own ears.

The voice guffawed a final time. _You already hear me. You’re halfway there._

Merlin opened his eyes, and the indigo of dawn was blinding to his fresh gaze. The side of his skull was numb from lying atop a rock in the same position for hours and the rest of his body was not much better. At least he remembered to go to sleep with shoes on and thick socks. His knees and spine popped loudly when he stood. He coughed against the groaning of his bones and hobbled along the wall to a broken portion of it. Merlin passed through, giving it a good kick in passing, only to flinch and nearly fall onto his rear when a scream erupted from the other side of the stone.

Merlin slumped against the rock for support, clutching his chest as he stared dumbly at the girl lying on the ground. Her bright aqua eyes were blown wide, petrified as she gazed up at him. “W-Wh-Who are you?” Merlin exclaimed.

The girl did not seem much younger than he as she grimaced, visibly trying to hold back tears. But her voice was strong as she proclaimed, “I’m not supposed to be here! I’m Morgana, I live in the Pendragon Manor!"

Merlin frowned vacantly, wondering how he could be so oblivious and how this person could live in the same place as him without anyone mentioning her. She was a striking figure, with her alabaster complexion contrasting with her ebony hair and bright eyes.

“Have you lived there the entire time?” he asked bluntly.

Her brows furrowed, puzzled. “Entire…the entire night, maybe. I just arrived last night.”

“Oh. You must have come with the Duke.” Merlin held out a hand and was impressed by how she did not flinch. Helping her to her feet, he removed his shoes and socks for her.

Morgana quickly shook her head, her hair hanging around her waist. “No, your feet will freeze.”

“I’m used to it,” Merlin replied, kneeling and lightly grasping her ankle, ushering her to lift it for a sock. Her hands held onto his shoulders while he tied his shoes on her pale feet. As he stood erect he wondered, “What brought you out here?"

A splinter of terror returned to her gaze, inducing her to look around, subconsciously seeking refuge. “I don’t know. I’ve never sleep walked before.” Her sharp gaze abruptly landed on him. “Who are you?”

“Oh! Um…” Merlin realized who she must be if she came with Uther. “I am Merlin, my lady. I’m a servant in the Pendragon house.”

Then she smiled, and it was indisputably the best thing Merlin had awoken to on these outings. “That means you know how to get back?”

His lips parted into a grin that mirrored hers. “Yes,” he promised.

They began their trek down the hill and through the remaining miles of forest, which he could draw on a map at this point, and slowly the morning began to warm as the sun crested through foliage above them. “Why are you out here…if you don’t mind my asking?” she queried.

“I…have nightmares,” Merlin adjusted quickly. “They make me sleep walk.”

“I do too! The nightmares, I mean,” she seconded. “I don’t know why I sleep walked, and out of the manor no less! We’re kilometers away!”

“What happens in your dreams?” Merlin asked eagerly.

Morgana focused on not tripping over any roots while she pondered that. “Different things, really. Sometimes I just hear people arguing…angry people. It sounds like rooms of people just yelling at each other for no apparent reason, or over the dullest things.”

Merlin’s countenance drooped. For a second he thought she might have somehow heard him and the voice arguing, as if she had entered upon the same mental plane as them, but it had only ever been Merlin and the sole figure conversing.

Morgana continued, “But last night was different. I think I was walking through a cave or something…but one side was stone, a man-made wall. Yet it seemed like it was on fire, or there was fire, I couldn’t tell. Everything is so distorted in dreams, but there was screaming and other noises.”

She finished abruptly, but Merlin could not blame her. For a moment he actually relished the darkness of his dreams, despite the annoying entity he shared them with. He wondered if Morgana had some amount of magic in her, but he could not see gold in her hair or a starlight sheen to her eyes the way he did in Arthur or himself in a mirror.

She changed topics with, “Everyone was asleep when I arrived. What is it like to live there?”

Merlin commenced a long description of the Pendragon household. He told her how Cook could make anything, but her personality was akin to a fine cheese that smelled like a rotten vintage; how the maids and stable hands gossiped amongst each other, but living this far from the capital reaped little by way of believable conversation. He told her all about Gaius and his job as an apprentice and assured her that he could help her with anything, the same as Ygraine would go out of her way to make sure she was comfortable.

“Then there’s Arthur,” Merlin finished. “He’s all right, but he’s younger than us—how old are you, my lady?”

“Twelve. I’ll be thirteen next month,” she informed. “And please stop calling me that. The last house I lived in was so informal I’m not used to it.”

“Sorry, things are a bit formal when there are people around. Typically Ygraine and Arthur don’t care about the niceties either, though.”

“There’s no one around now,” Morgana pointed out.

“No…but you’re still a lady. I’m just…me. Merlin.”

She scoffed, “Well right now you’re my savior, so stop calling me ‘my lady.’ Arthur is the heir, right? How much younger is he?”

“Eight. But he aims for sixteen.”

“Oh my,” Morgana guffawed. “He sounds interesting.”

“No one can say he lacks ambition,” Merlin laughed with her.

“And the Duke? What of him?”

Merlin paused. “What do you mean? I thought you came with him?”

“I did,” she answered, passing under the broken light filtering through the trees. Color splashed across her face. “But I haven’t known him apart from the visits he made my father. My late father."

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said automatically. It was what people said for condolence, although he did not quite understand it.

It seemed Morgana felt as indifferently about receiving it as he did giving it. She shrugged, “My mother died last year. I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. He wasn’t the same without her.”

This took Merlin aback and he could not help but say, “I’m sorry for asking, but did he…you know…?”

Her full lips pursed a little as she thought about her reply. “No, he didn’t kill himself…not in the conventional sense at least. He just…let go. Living is awfully hard as it is, and I think he lost his motivation for it when he lost her. He died with my mother, it just took an extra year to place his body in the ground.”

Merlin’s brows shot up. “That’s uh…that’s a way to put it.”

She giggled, “Sorry, I haven’t spent much time out of the house. My mother had a personality like fire and my father’s tongue was sharp. Left to my own devices I guess I became like both of them.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Merlin offered. “In a way, they’re always with you.”

Morgana was silent for a time, but the air was filled with the singing birds and the morning had become quite pleasant. Merlin pointed through the distance at the lead grey stone peeking through the trees. “There it is,” he announced cheerfully, but his head yanked downward when he felt her hand take his. A small gasp was in her throat and she gazed warily between him and the grounds of the Pendragon Estate. Merlin beamed as he squeezed her fingers. “You’ll be all right. I’m here with you. Come on, Gaius’s porridge is probably ready!”

He set off at a run, tugging her after him. “I thought you said Cook, uh, _cooks?_ ”

“She does!” he called, “but she doesn’t really like me and she never makes enough food!”

Morgana guffawed beside him and they leaped over the ignored fragments of the wall, overgrown by moss and grass over the years. Some of the landscapers perked up at the sound of children laughing but Merlin and Morgana sprinted the last few feet to the door and entered the manic kitchen; the chaos was tenfold since the Duke had returned.

“MUD AGAIN! OUT OF MY KITCHEN YOU—two?” Cook sputtered, staring over her flushed cheeks as she examined Merlin’s companion. Morgana’s other hand gripped Merlin’s waistcoat and he guided them out of Cook’s territory.

“She’s also not a morning person,” he narrated apologetically.

“Is she angry all the time?” Morgana wondered breathlessly.

“Not always, but it is her default,” Merlin nodded as he drew her down the small set of stairs and unlatched Gaius’s door. The old man was caught in the middle of combing a hand through his hair, and the silvery-white strands wrinkled rebelliously when his gaze lifted.

His smile was immediate as he found a blanket and approached. “You must be the Lady Morgana. My name is Gaius, I’m the physician here.”

He draped the fabric around her and kissed the back of her hand. "I'm sure you're famished. Come, I have plenty of bowls for three."

Morgana peeked at Merlin, her wide eyes telling him she was shocked by how nice and unquestioning Gaius was. Merlin simply nodded with a grin and rushed toward the fireplace, eagerly reaching on his toes for the bowls on top of the mantle. He handed one to Morgana and extended his own for the ladle Gaius upturned over it. Creamy oats and nuts awaited him as he took a seat at the table where cream, sugar, and berries were. Today they had fresh blackberries as well as cherry preserves. Morgana took the seat next to him and watched how he dug a well in the center of his thick porridge and poured cream into it while he dropped berries around it. She went with the cherry preserves, but after mixing in the cream her eyes brightened over her mouthful. “This is really good!”

Gaius chuckled warmly. “I’m so glad. Have as much as you like.”

Merlin certainly did, although he was surprised when he and Morgana stood up at the same time for second helpings. He laughed and took her bowl to fill it for her. He was returning the dish to her when he heard a patter of feet, and a split second later Arthur’s voice: “Merlin! Mama can’t find the—”

The door swung open and Arthur stopped in his tracks, eyes locked with Morgana’s. It was a loaded second before his gaze darted to the bowl Merlin was placing in front of her and he blurted, “Who are you?”

“Morgana,” she answered just as bluntly.

Arthur’s lips pressed shut while a war of emotions played out across his face. Ultimately he marched forward, gripped Merlin’s sleeve, and dragged him back out to the corridor. No sooner was the door shut then he pressed himself against it, as if to scrutinize Morgana through the cracks. The wood had been expertly battened together, however, and he whirled on Merlin. “Who was that?”

“The Lady Morgana,” Merlin replied.

Arthur glared as if this was not the answer he wanted. “Why is she with _you?_ ”

“She’s going to be living here from now on, I think,” Merlin answered. “She’s having breakfast with us.”

“Why wasn’t I invited?” Arthur queried.

“It was a spur of the moment decision,” Merlin replied jadedly. “You always break your fast with Ygraine.”

“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t here!” Arthur exclaimed.

Merlin wearily placed a hand on his hip while the other scrubbed a hand over his face. Tiny bits of dirt were stuck to his cheeks. “Arthur, would you like to have breakfast with us?” he asked measuredly.

The plump lips opened…and then closed. “I’ve already eaten…” he grumbled.

Merlin inhaled for patience. “Then would you like to introduce yourself properly to Morgana? She’s had a rough night and not a lot of sleep. She could use someone like you to cheer her up.”

Arthur’s eyes brightened and his mouth settled to a more natural place. Receiving all the prodding he needed, his hands reached for the latch and he entered the room with renewed gusto. Merlin took a moment to lean against the wall, silently laughing to himself.

Arthur, the shining knight.

“I’m Arthur Pendragon,” he informed, sticking his good hand right under Morgana’s chin where she could not avoid it.

She leaned back to accept it from a better distance. “Morgana Le Fay,” she repeated. “Why is your arm in a sling?”

“I dislocated my shoulder yesterday,” Arthur boasted like it was some sort of achievement. He climbed onto Merlin’s spot next to her and reached for the bowl of fruit.

“Why?” she asked.

“Sword fighting,” Arthur said around a blackberry.

“People rarely sword fight anymore,” Morgana pointed out.

“So? The point is to grow big and strong.”

Morgana’s eyes visibly roamed over Arthur’s lanky form. Gaius provided, “The Duke is a traditional sort of man. He wants Arthur trained in the fine art of combat to better understand the necessity of strategy before he is introduced to its brutal reality.”

“Guns,” Arthur reiterated, oblivious to the meaning of 'brutal reality.'

Merlin had settled next to his mentor by this time and was contently spooning porridge into his mouth. Arthur’s eyes alighted on the small pitcher of cream he was pouring over his dollops of cherry preserves. “Mama doesn’t let me have sugar in the morning,” he pondered aloud.

“Because somehow Ygraine managed to bottle the power of the sun and birth it in the form of you,” Merlin quipped dryly, but his words were cut off as he pulled his bowl back from Arthur's reaching forward. “What are you doing?”

“Let me try some,” Arthur said.

“You said you’d already eaten,” Merlin countered protectively, using both hands to hold his porridge.

“I want to try it with the cherries,” he combatted, reaching as far as the table allowed.

“Why do I have to share mine with you?” Merlin complained. “It’s my breakfast.”

“Which my mum pays for,” Arthur shot back.

“What sort of argument is that? If everything worked like that I could say ‘Get off my planet, my mum breathes this air.’”

“My mum _does_ breathe this air, you ungrateful twat!” Arthur sassed. “The same as those cherries she bought for Cook to preserve—”

"Haha!"

Both of their heads swiveled to Morgana, who clapped a hand over her mouth to stymy her giggles. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a little boy say ‘twat’ before...”

“For good reason.”

Arthur nearly fell off his seat at the sound of his mother’s voice in the doorway. Ygraine rested against the stone with a crimson shawl around her shoulders, gazing expectantly at her son. “Mama! Um-I—”

“Don’t bother,” she scoffed. “You won’t be fit to return to the training grounds for a couple of weeks; you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

His bum hit the seat dejectedly. Meanwhile, Ygraine’s attention was already on Morgana. “Hello, love. I’m sorry we were poorly introduced last night. I am Ygraine, Arthur’s mother—oh, please, none of that.”

Morgana’s head perked up from the curtsy she had been in the process of giving the Duchess. She stepped awkwardly back into a standing position as Ygraine’s eyes roamed over her attire. They briefly flicked down to the boots on her feet and then Merlin, but otherwise she gave no clues to her thoughts. “Eat your fill, and I’ll have a bath drawn up for you in your rooms. My maids will help you dress, but there’s no rush. Arthur, come with me please.”

“Merlin will bring a cold poultice up once he finishes,” Gaius promised.

“Thank you, and Merlin, might you know where my soft-toothed brush has gone? Arthur’s hidden all my combs and scissors.”

“Because I don’t want a haircut,” he stated sullenly while his hair fell over his eyes.

Merlin swallowed thickly and replied, “Arthur’s bedside drawer.”

“Ah, where all the rest are probably hiding as well,” she deduced. “Come along, son of mine.”

Arthur trailed after his mother’s skirts and Morgana glanced at Merlin and Gaius, the former smiling around his porridge. The latter assured, “Arthur is typically the one getting in the most trouble. You’ll be just fine here.”

Morgana soon left to dress and returned Merlin’s shoes to him. He descended to the cellar for ice, holding the candle warily above his head this time. As the orange light licked along the walls, no sounds other than the chipping of the chisel reached his ears. Poultice in hand, Merlin ascended to Arthur’s rooms, where Ygraine was trimming the finishing touches to Arthur’s mane…although it was not much of a mane anymore. The shorter it was cut, the more weightless the locks became, sticking up in golden wisps when Ygraine’s fingers released them.

Arthur opened an eye when Merlin crept close to situate the compress beneath his sling. “Why’s there dirt on your face?”

“I was up early,” he answered vaguely.

Ygraine’s hands raked the pieces from his scalp, diverting Arthur’s attention from further questioning. Merlin retrieved the broom from the corridor closet and set to sweeping while Arthur examined himself in the mirror. “You cut it all!”

Ygraine rolled her eyes while she rubbed scented oil on the teeth of a comb. Running it strategically through his hair, she declared huskily, “I turned you from a boy…into a duke.”

Merlin peeked around them and saw Arthur’s reflection: his hair was loosely parted off to the side, and the natural volume of his hair made it a neatly mussed look that gave more definition to his bone structure. He looked older, but not so slicked down with oil like some of the businessmen Merlin saw in town with Gaius.

Arthur’s dubious gaze slid over to Merlin’s in the mirror. He held Arthur’s gaze with an approving smile before looking down at the floor, returning to his duties. Arthur inhaled deeply and admitted, “It’s all right.”

After Merlin returned the broom to its cupboard he was taken away by the momentum of the day. Uther was already in town and intended to meet his wife, son, and guest for lunch and an afternoon in the park; this doubled the workload of the servants remaining since a number of stable hands and maids were leaving with them. Merlin did not particularly mind, although he would have liked for Cook to be one of the members leaving the house.

When the family returned, Merlin had just enough time to bathe and change before he took his place with the servants around the dinner table. They used a smaller dining room when they were not hosting banquets; a room designed by Ygraine to be light and inviting even when lit by dull candle and oil light. Usually Merlin stood at his place along the wall and found something to stare at until Gaius nudged his foot because someone needed their glass refilled. This time, the sight of Morgana wearing a pastel blue gown with her hair tied over one shoulder was a sight for sore eyes. She met his gaze, and when he smiled she visibly breathed a sigh of relief, as if she had been holding it all day.

Merlin soon fell into the same pattern during dinner, memorizing the painted design on the dishes he carried and counting all the scuffs on the toes of his boots. He wiggled his toes against the leather, made soft over a year of wear. Gaius insisted he did not mind catering to Merlin’s growth spurts, but he did not like bothering his mentor’s pocketbook because he kept outgrowing his clothes.

Suddenly Merlin felt Gaius at his ear, and he roused with the pitcher ready, but a gentle hand grasped his forearms as his elder said, “Pudding will be easy enough to handle. You can slip off to bed.”

Merlin glanced at the table and realized the last course was indeed being served. In the midst of servants setting butterscotch flan down and refilling beverages, Merlin slipped out unnoticed. But he did not go to bed. He stopped long enough in his room to grab his book of enchantments and rushed to the garden. At night it was the only place without gossip or interruption; no one cared for crickets or the darkness.

As for Merlin, magic lit his way. Starlight shined through the trees as well as the sun did, illuminating everything with shards of silver and blue light. When he found a spot against a tree, he nestled among the roots and struck a match to light a single candle. He buried it halfway into the soil to keep it upright and commence flipping through the pages. Gaius had managed to fill the book, but deciphering it had been a different matter entirely. As much as Merlin disdained to admit it, his time with the voice in his dreams reaped several benefits, such as understanding the language of magic.

_Reading?_ it had laughed once. _What trouble have you with reading when you speak it this very moment? The words are magic made tangible, and you are magic. To say you cannot read it is the same as saying you cannot see yourself._

Slowly but surely Merlin had come to recognize the symbols and drawings as if from a lost memory. He had even corrected some of Gaius’s annotated sketches. Sitting with the book calmed Merlin in a way he could not find elsewhere; scanning through the pages to see what secrets they revealed to him, although they tended to be anticlimactic. He read through a page detailing how a certain plant could cure ailments ranging from a sore joint, to a fever, to three days of hunger depending on how one’s magic crafted it; which Merlin supposed this could be helpful, but then there was a page devoted to the proper way to milk a unicorn. At first Merlin had read with a skeptical grimace on his face. _Unicorns?_ But the book was like any other of Gaius’s medical volumes. It was familiar and comfortable in his hands--

“Can’t sleep?”

Merlin startled, breaking the stalk of the candle and causing the flame to extinguish against the earth. For several moments he was blind to the night, blinking rapidly but only seeing the ghost of the candle’s glow. Ygraine’s visage came into view as she knelt beside him. “My lady, your dress—”

“Hush, darling. I couldn’t care less about it. Mind if I join you?”

Merlin’s skinny frame automatically moved as far as it could to the edge of the cradle of roots, and Ygraine slid easily next to him. Merlin was caught off guard by how slim she was beneath her layers of fabric. “What happened there?” she wondered, running a finger along the fissures in the leather cover.

“U-Um…I’m not sure…old leather, I guess,” he stuttered. It was not much of an excuse since the surrounding binding was soft and vividly blue. Gaius had said the leather just split one day, and Merlin had not been surprised. Things just happened around him.

Instead of questioning further, she reclined against the tree as her eyes closed in long blinks, her lashes reluctant to rise again. “Gaius told me a little bit about this morning. It was kind of you to catch Morgana. I’ve heard stories of people leaving their homes during their sleep, except they enter someone else’s on their way back.”

“I’m not sure whose home she might have wandered into…” Merlin countered gently.

Ygraine chuckled, a lazy sound that shook her chest. “Too true…although part of me is glad the wall hasn’t been fixed. Children should never be caged, even in a place as large as this.”

Merlin followed her gaze toward the darkness beyond, where the wall surrounding the estate had crumbled. “You might have lost Arthur by now if there wasn’t something around the place.”

Her laughter was fuller this time, and her giggles lingered so long that Merlin felt his own mingling with hers. “Ah that boy…he is too much some days but I wouldn’t trade him for the world. In truth, I’m jealous of his energy. I hope he never loses it. Same as you.”

Merlin’s eyes had since adjusted and he glanced with a puzzled expression at her. “My lady?”

“Morgana is quite taken with you.”

The subject change threw him, but he considered it and said, “She’s a good person, I think…she’s scared but good. Does she get along with Arthur?”

“Yes,” Ygraine uttered, as if this was a great relief. “She is not afraid to voice her opinions and observations. This is wonderfully refreshing for a young lady and good for him. She challenges Arthur in a new way. My husband is adopting her.”

Something in her tone altered, causing Merlin’s smile to fall. “You don’t want that?”

Her exhalation audibly blew from her nostrils as she smiled down on him, but there was something forced in it. “I don’t mind at all. You’re right: she is a wonderful girl, and she is lost in this world. I have no reason to dislike her. I just find it ironic how her name is already Pendragon, but now it will be so to the rest of the world.”

Merlin’s features froze on his face as he processed what this could mean. All he could comprehend was _Le Fay_ echoing in his mind…

Ygraine noticed his perplexity and rephrased, “She is Uther’s daughter.”

Merlin’s expression instantly dropped, and unbeknownst to himself, his eyes glowed. “The Duke wouldn’t do that…not to you. No one would do that to you.”

The fair strands hanging from Ygraine’s pins fluttered in the breeze, which she suspected was not an act of weather, but by the boy’s unconscious reaction. Her fingertips dusted across his forehead and then brushed through his hair, clearing a space to kiss his forehead. Her palm slid through the arches of cowlicks to cradle the side of his head, and when she leaned back to see his face, his eyelashes lifted heavily to reveal the fiery gold of his irises fading to a calm, luminous blue.

“Not everyone is as true hearted as you, darling. It’s not strange for husbands to have a woman other than his wife.”

“But…Morgana’s mother was married. Her father loved her…” Merlin exclaimed, desperate to understand but also not wanting to at all.

Ygraine’s arm had circled his shoulders while her hand raked over his scalp, sending tingles down through his nape and shoulders. “I did not know her before she passed away. I had only met her husband twice but I recall him as being very doting…perhaps too much. Every relationship is different; I haven’t the knowledge to judge them.”

Merlin tumbled her words through his mind, but a myriad of things consumed his thoughts, causing him to be silent for a long time. Eventually Ygraine leaned into him so her words brushed against his hair, “What are you thinking about?”

He instinctively leaned into her, their weight counterbalancing each other. “I don’t know,” he finally mumbled.

“That usually means you have too much on your mind,” she whispered, and the mirth in her tone drew his gaze up.

“My mother says you shouldn’t settle,” Merlin said by way of explaining his thoughts.

“Because she knows you deserve the best,” Ygraine reiterated in her authoritative, maternal tone.

“But so do you,” he insisted.

“You’re spoiling me, Merlin,” she laughed musically. “I like to think I do have the best: despite Uther’s faults, he adores Arthur. Great men do not always make good fathers, but he is, which is why Morgana is with us now. The greatest physician in the land is also my dearest friend, and his young apprentice is rapidly becoming his competition. I do not take any of the people in my life for granted. Now, I may not be a doctor, but I know the temperature is dropping. Let’s get you inside.”

Merlin rushed to his feet and extended his hands to help her up. Tucking his book under his arm, he bid Ygraine goodnight in the corridor between the kitchens and Gaius’s rooms. His mentor was awake reading, but Merlin fainted as soon as his head hit the pillow.

_Good evening, Emrys._

_It’s been a long day. Could we not?_

Gaius’s head perked up, shocked to hear Merlin talking in his sleep so soon.

_I grow restless. Unlike me, you haven’t the time to waste._

_I thought you said we were both eternal,_ Merlin sassed as he sat up in bed.

_Indeed, but the rest of the world is in a rush. You must keep up. How go your studies?_

The door rattled in its frame as Gaius shrugged into his coat and opened a chest of blankets. Rain was delicately splattering the windowpanes, so he pulled out one of the large umbrellas as well. Merlin strode past him, the only sign he was asleep being how nearly closed his eyes were; a glint of yellow shined from between his eyelids.

“…ailgeis bobcheist…Albu…do feart…” Merlin mumbled. Some of the ancient words were clear as if he meant for Gaius to hear them while others were indecipherable.

_You will understand soon enough,_ the voice declared impatiently.

_I know you think you’re helping things by forcing me to figure it out, but—”_

Gaius had to sidestep around Merlin to avoid poking him with the ribs of the umbrella because he halted in the grass of the garden. His head turned, and for the first time his eyes opened fully. Gaius’s breath quickened in his chest as Merlin stared right through him, but then his chin craned upward, gazing at the castle behind them. Lightning cackled in the sky, shining right through the fabric of the umbrella and illuminating Merlin’s face with a pale light as the rain began to fall heavily. Without warning, he strode back inside, with more intent than when he ever left the manor. Gaius tread quietly over the stone floors whereas Merlin seemed weightless upon them. Up the stairs and down a familiar corridor, Gaius’s heart leapt into his chest when he realized in what direction Merlin was headed. The Duke might still be awake with the Duchess—

Arthur’s door opened with a lethargic gesture of Merlin’s hand and the curtains parted for him. Gaius scanned both ends of the corridor before following him inside. The small figure under the piled bedclothes writhed limply, as if the covers were too heavy to move. In the din of the storm outside, Gaius could hear the boy’s labored breathing, and his mind immediately feared suffocation, choking on a midnight snack, constriction of his bronchial tubes even though Arthur had no history of asthma...

“Mm! Hmm…Merlin…” he mumbled weakly. Arthur gasped in his sleep, his hair sticking to his slick forehead. “I can’t…Merlin there’s rats…in the cherries. Help me, Merlin…I can’t see…”

Merlin’s hand reached across the bed, his fingers curling to pull the hair off Arthur’s face. “Merlin…where…’ve you been…”

The corners of Merlin’s lips twitched, teasing a smile. “I’m busy. Haven’t time to be a prat.”

“Not a prat…” Arthur grumbled as he rolled onto his back. His face turned toward Merlin’s hand, his fingers carding through the moist hairline. “I don’t want...you busy…” His chest heaved, lifting the blankets in the effort to breathe. “Merlin.”

“Ssshhh, Arthur,” Merlin hushed, his eyelids lowered to half-mast once more. “Princes must sleep. The cherries are in Cook’s safekeeping.”

Arthur rolled a final time onto the side facing Merlin, his breathing even now that Merlin’s palm caressed his head, shielding him from his nightmares. Arthur muttered something like, “Grubbyhandsonmycherries…” and settled comfortably into his pillow the same moment Merlin’s eyes shut.

“Woop, I’ve got you,” Gaius rushed behind him, catching Merlin before he collapsed on the floor completely asleep. Gaius thanked the lingering muscles from his youth and Merlin’s slender frame as he carried the boy back downstairs for a thorough night’s sleep.

It was almost a shock to Merlin when he awoke in his own bed. He stumbled out of his room as if he was late to something, but Gaius was just finishing unloading eggs from a skillet. Merlin was just glad to wake in a warm place, so he shoveled eggs, toast, and smoked salmon into his mouth before the day commenced.

He was carrying a pile of laundry through the open terrace around the courtyard when he rounded the corner and found Arthur peeking over the terrace wall. “What are you doing?”

Arthur startled and immediately yanked Merlin to his knees alongside him. “Who is that down there with Morgana?”

Merlin frowned and peered over the ledge to see a girl with dark curls spilling over the back of her pink and brown dress. Two braids on either side of her face held her hair off of her sweet face the same complexion as chocolate. Her smile illuminated her almond eyes, but Merlin’s gaze diverted to the apron tied around her waist. “She must be Morgana’s maid.”

“But what’s her name?” Arthur pestered, his eyes never leaving the girl.

“How should I know? She might have just gotten here today—”

“Because you know everything! Stop talking so loud!” Arthur hissed. He held Merlin so tightly they could have pressed their cheeks together. When Arthur rose up to peek into the courtyard again, Merlin was bidden to follow. If he had to guess, the maid was near Morgana’s age but no younger than Arthur.

“You know, my lord, there are more dignified ways to discover a person’s name,” Merlin reminded.

“You’re right,” Arthur confirmed. “You should go down there and ask her for it, then come back and tell me.”

Merlin’s eyelids drooped in annoyance. “That is not what I meant.”

“I can’t be seen in my sling,” Arthur reasoned.

“You were so proud of it in front of Morgana,” Merlin reminded. “Battle wounds and all that.”

“Morgana didn’t think so. How can I know this one won’t think I’m weak, either?” the blonde worried.

Merlin laughed, “They’re women, not foreign creatures.”

“I don’t see a difference,” Arthur countered.

Merlin sighed, “Morgana doesn’t think you’re weak. I doubt she cares either way about your sling, and her maid is too busy being her _maid_ to care much either.”

“Hmm,” Arthur hummed indifferently as he pushed up on the balls of his feet to look again. “Where’d they go?”

Merlin’s brows furrowed as he turned to look, but a clearing of a throat turned both of their heads to their left, where Morgana and her maid had rounded the corner. “What are you two doing?” the former inquired pointedly.

“Casual chat,” Merlin replied the same instant Arthur blurted, “Laundry.”

They glanced each other and Merlin recovered quickly, “We’re in disguise…doing laundry…to avoid Arthur’s tutoring.”

Morgana’s stare was deadpan, clearly witnessing the worst lie she had ever heard, but her young maid frowned contemplatively. “You don’t like school, my lord?”

Arthur’s expression opened and he stood erect. “Reading gives me headaches.”

She smiled, and even Merlin was warmed by it. “You should eat while you read. Your mind is working harder, that’s why."

“Don’t buy into his excuses, Gwen,” Morgana chided. “And you too, Merlin. Shove a book in his hands and let him twitch. Come along, Cook is supposed to be making blueberry tarts.”

“Gwen?” Arthur piped, causing the maid to smile over her shoulder.

“Guinevere, my lord, but people like to call me Gwen.”

“I like Guinevere,” he proclaimed, and then blushed a rich scarlet. “T-The name! Guinevere…”

Merlin blinked perplexedly while Morgana rolled her eyes. She strode down the terrace and Guinevere trotted after her, leaving Arthur and Merlin dumbfounded in their wake. Suddenly Arthur whirled around and sprinted in the other direction. “Bring me some of those tarts! I’m going to read!”

Laundry forgotten, Merlin crouched there staring at the stone as if it could explain what had just happened.

By some miracle worked by Gwen, Merlin did indeed find Arthur reading when he delivered the plate of tarts, fresh enough that they were still radiating heat and aromas from Cook’s oven. Merlin was so puzzled by the sight of Arthur hunched over a book and reaching for the tarts that he left without a word. He passed the Duchess Ygraine in the corridor, who wished him good morning, but upon seeing his face asked what was wrong. Merlin only shook his head and pointed toward Arthur’s room.

That evening, Merlin was not left to sleep tranquilly in his bed. _What happened?_ the voice made by way of greeting.

Merlin sighed, _What are you on about now?_

_You were separated from me last night. What happened?_

Merlin paused. _I woke up in my own bed…but I don’t know what broke your connection to me. I’ll have to thank it later._

_Emrys, this is a serious matter. Something, or_ someone, _who can interfere with your power—_

_Can you just take a moment to understand what I said?_ Merlin curtailed. _I woke up in my bed, and you can’t even comprehend what that means to me. What it means to not be relentlessly controlled by you and wandering the countryside every night._

It was the voice’s turn to pause before responding. _What happened today? You are different. You are, dare I say, rational in your arguments tonight._

_Nothing happened,_ Merlin countered, but the memories were already coming to the forefront of his mind and there was no point in trying to hide what could already be seen. _Arthur’s acting differently. A new maid is in the castle and she’s somehow gotten him to do the thing he hates…_

The baritone chuckled softly. _I suppose this is your first time experiencing jealousy?_

_What would I be jealous of?_ he asked blankly.

_Oh, Emrys,_ the voice scoffed, and then yelled, _MERLIN._

_You’re inside my head, you needn’t shout—_

Abrupt pain reverberated throughout his skull the same time his stomach leaped into his throat. Merlin’s eyes shot open in time to meet the ground, but his hands barely caught him, inducing more pain to vibrate through his wrists. He was not surprised by being outside, but he was caught unaware by the sight of Hadrian’s wall several meters ahead instead of its customary place beside him.

But not as unaware as he was by the kick to his ribs.

Merlin’s lungs coughed and trembled to refill, but the agony bid him not to move, let alone stretch his broken ribs. Tight hands lifted him to his feet and held him up. Merlin dazedly peered around at the cluster of men surrounding him. Only two were properly illuminated by the lanterns they held, but silhouettes seemed to tower over him.

“His eyes ain’t glowin’ no more,” one of them commented.

“They hide in plain sight,” returned another. “Like worms.”

“Worms r’not obvious, Gerald,” quipped someone behind Merlin.

“Ye get the point, blimey. And don’ use our names.”

“Go ahead,” came a different voice from the shadows. “He’s seen the last taste of light for the rest of his days.”

“W-What do you mean? What are you doing—?” Merlin tried to exclaim, but a fist wrapped in a leather glove with iron circlets over the knuckles collided with his cheekbone. Merlin thought his face was going to shatter.

“Easy, easy Louis,” the calm voice cooed. Merlin managed to lift his head again only when something tickled over his scalp. He startled when a thick rope was cinched around his throat.

“Wait! NO! N—hmph…” Merlin cried, but the roped tightened as a gritty rag was stuffed into his mouth. His eyes watered with the need to breathe coupled with the panic rising from the constriction of his neck. The cloth blocking his pleas tasted of sweat and things Merlin did not want to think about.

“Why the noose? Yer so fuckin’ theatrical, Aredian.”

“We mustn’t let him speak,” said the cool voice, like the water of an onyx lake. “Power is in words, and their strength lies deepest in their language. Carry him if he won’t come.”

Merlin was lifted into the air while his hands were tied behind his back in such a way that when he pulled, the hemp constricting his throat tightened all the more. To his confusion, he was carried up the elevation to the wall instead of in the direction of town. The fragments of stone passed him by and dwindled in the distance before disappearing altogether. Merlin had since grown tired of holding his head up; it was not until they crested the expanses of hills and descended into a rocky valley that he began to realize what they intended.

They were heading underground.

The rim of the valley was a cliff of sorts hanging over the entrances to a series of caves. Merlin had heard of these but he had never seen them, much less ever been curious of entering them. His nose sniffled wetly from the cold, but more so as his heart rate spiked skyward. He squirmed limply, held as he was by hands all over his body. Grimy fingers patted his face harshly and Merlin clamped his eyes shut against the lighting of other lanterns and candles. He saw how the flames set the rock around them alight, as if the very stone burned.

And then they rounded a cavern’s corner, and Merlin shuttered violently. Hadrian’s Wall, at least a hundred meters underground, made up their right side. Unlike above, here the wall was a towering stretch of curving, unbroken stone that looked alive by the fire of the lanterns.

“Aredian! Wha’s happenin’ to ‘im?” the one named Gerald called. His voice did not echo—it sank into the floor, walls, and ceiling, like the stone was ravenous for it.

“He feels it,” the man answered. Merlin finally saw who the voice belonged to in the form of a tall, slim but strong figure with hair so blond it border-lined white. “Legend tells of Hadrian’s beast imprisoned deep below the earth, caged there by the sorcerer himself. Dragon or no, the wall holds more power than this entire godforsaken country does. Only magic can imprison magic.”

The others snickered. The one Merlin guessed was Louis leaned over him to say, “You’ll be livin’ with a dragon, ye lil’ fuck! Careful of its teeth, if it still has ‘em after so long.”

“Cease your toying with him,” Aredian ordered ahead. “That creature is toxic, not your plaything.”

_Toxic? Me?_ Merlin exclaimed inwardly. His worries were only affirmed by the taunts given by the others.

“Ha ha, we know where vile pets get stuffed, ay boys?”

“We used ter stone foxes and rodents that wandered where they didna belong. Only fitting to stone a little beastie here.”

“We’re no’ stoning him, you wanker. We’re locking ‘im in the wall. We’re buryin’im.”

Merlin screamed through his gag, fighting with everything he had for freedom. His legs struck out, managing to get free, but his spine bowed backward as his hands pulled his neck taught. Outcries resounded as the men clustered around him, kicking him and beating him until they could resume their carrying of him. Merlin was seeing spots and too breathless to do any more than take it.

“Enough,” came Aredian’s voice. A concave section had already been cleared in the wall. A rusted iron bolt was in the stone for a sconce once upon a time, but now the alcove served a different purpose entirely. A space for light was now meant for darkness. “Place him inside.”

Merlin was thrown head first into the alcove. He tried to duck his head against the blow but it still came, and the landing was the worst part. His ribs protested fiercely, and when he finally sucked in a breath, it felt hot and wet inside his chest.

His head lifted and turned toward the scraping and clatter of rock. The men were piling stones across the alcove, walling him inside. Merlin grit his teeth and heaved one knee underneath him, and then the other to sit back on his heels. Without warning a hand thrust over the barrier of stones and jerked the gag from his mouth. Merlin heard something akin to, “Be needin’ me han’kerchief,” but as his eyes lifted, he met the golden gaze of Aredian.

Merlin clumsily stood on his bare feet and rasped, “But you’re… You have magic!”

“And no one else will hear you say so,” he replied smoothly. Merlin’s gaze jerked downward, where instead of mortar, Aredian was magically sealing the stones with a song under his breath.

“B-But…” Merlin begged. “Don’t do this to me! I have magic! We’re the same! Why are you doing this?”

“Because there are too many of us and those who don’t know their place are a disease to this land,” Aredian informed, his hooked nose casting a narrow shadow across his thin lips.

“I’m fourteen! I haven’t done anything!”

“Nor will you,” Aredian confirmed. “Cut out the cancer before it spoils the body. That is modern medicine.”

“What would you know?” Merlin tried to scream but his voice cracked and came out as broken whispers. “I apprentice under a physician!”

Only Aredian’s eyes were visible now. He chuckled, “Then perhaps he will know what to do with your body if he manages to find you.”

Merlin’s eyes widened with terror and he tried to reach for the top of the barrier before it connected with the tip of the alcove, but his breath gargled in his throat as the rope pulled. He watched the last of the firelight disappear, blanketing him in darkness. Merlin could hear his breath rustling through his throat. His chin craned every which way, trying to find a single sliver of light, but there were none. He took a step forward, and met the wall. He steered left and met wall. Right. Wall. Everywhere, above, below, and around him. A cage. A crypt.

Merlin sucked in a quick inhalation and stepped back, slamming his spine against the rock as his leg thrust outward. His heel beat against the stone to no avail. He heard his whimper rattle through the air but his own voice was alien to him. Tears began to flow down his cheeks as he threw himself against the wall, abusing his good side until those ribs ached almost as much as the others. His arms were numb from being tied behind his back for so long, and his sobs wracked his body in coughs and spasms, leaving him swaying breathlessly for several minutes before he could recommence his frenzy.

_Emrys._

Merlin spun around too quickly to maintain his balance. His back collided with the alcove barrier as he stared at Hadrian’s Wall itself. “Don’t talk to me,” he whimpered.

_Emrys._

“NO! You’re the reason I’m here! Y-You’re…” he sobbed, his body bowing against his will, causing the rope around his neck to choke his words. “I’m going to die here…because of you…”

_Open your eyes, Emrys._

Phlegm dripped from his nose, adding to the mess of fluids across his face. “I d-don’t wan-n-nt it,” he wept. “I don’t want this…I don’t want to be Emrys. I don’t want to be me.”

_Listen to me. Aredian has magic. You are magic. It is in your veins. It stitches the cells of your meat together. You are the stars, galaxies made flesh. Magic dabbles in others, it experiments, but in you, Merlin...Emrys, magic lives. You cannot be killed by what you are. Open your eyes. You are not caged at all._

A burning sensation unlike any he had known tingled in the back of Merlin’s eye sockets. It circled to the rims of his eyes, like a third eyelid sliding across his orbs, turning sapphire irises gold. What was black all around him transformed into blocks of fiery particles. His hands pulled at his bindings, snapping the hemp before it disintegrated at his feet, but in his panic Merlin clawed at his neck. His nails cut into his flesh as blood slowly returned to his fingertips, making his movements clumsy and rushed. Finally tearing the noose over his head, Merlin could see his hands in front of his face and the blue fire rushing underneath his skin in the channels of his veins.

_Speak, Emrys. As you always have to me._

Merlin rotated, facing his obstacle anew. Unlike Hadrian’s work, Aredian’s seals barely sparkled. Merlin’s fingertips brushed against the stone, feeling the cold contrast to the blazing heat of magic behind him. _“Open.”_

Power erupted from him, slamming through the alcove with battering force. Rock shattered in all directions. Merlin’s arms flew up to shield his head, but nothing fell from above. He peeked behind him at the obliterated segment of wall, and gaped at the black hole. There was something beyond it, the way silence wields more gravity than noise. As the swirls of dust settled, a hot breath slithered through the air, and a rich ocean blue eye as large as the hole emerged from the darkness. A glossy, transparent membrane flicked across the great orb, and when it audibly slid back, the blue transformed from sapphire, to starlight, to golden fire.

_Hello, Emrys._ Merlin’s heels kicked bits of rock as he scuffled backward away from the creature. _Do not run from me, Emrys. You are the descendant of my king, who was a descendant of me, and you wield my master. You and I are bound to one another._

_M-Master?_ Merlin stuttered inside his head, too shocked for verbal speech.

_Magic, my dear Emrys,_ the dragon hummed. _My king bound me here under a promise, and you are to fulfill it._

_The wall is broken. You are magic like me,_ Merlin countered, trying to make sense of this through his terror.

_This is true. The wall has always been a ruse, but there is a force stronger than magic that binds me here. You already know it, even if you are not thoroughly aware of it, yet. Soon you will wield both it and magic, and you will be unstoppable. I must wait until that time, but remember me, Emrys._

Merlin ran. The soles of his feet sliced open over the rock, but he ran and he did not stop even when he saw the familiar orange firelight ahead. A shard of fear spiked through his core, but anger engulfed it like nothing he had every felt. He was barely more than a boy, innocent. They had no right…

The flames deepened to blue, sending fractals of indigo across the cavern walls and the first patches of grass along the opening. Merlin’s sprint did not waver as he heard panicked exclamations from his captors.

“What’s with this funny light?”

“Aredian, is tha’ you?”

“Wha’s that?”

“Fuckin’ hell, there’s no fuckin’ way—”

“Kill ‘im! Jus’ kill the fuckin’ worm!”

The glint of a blade was seen, but Merlin's hands shot up at the shimmer of light off a pistol’s barrel. As if he was tearing paper, Merlin’s gesture split the group of men apart, causing bodies to fly in opposite directions. Aredian’s eyes flashed yellow, and Merlin did not think about it. His hand pivoted and the firearm rotated in Aredian’s grip, then fired.

The ensuing silence was broken by the stammered words, “He didn’ say nothin’!”

“Aredian’s d-dead! Just dead! Someone kill ‘im! Sorcerer!”

“The worm’s a fuckin’ freak! His mouth didn’ open! Not a word!”

“Stop yer yammerin’ and kill ‘im!”

“Don’ let ‘im touch you! His hands are doin’ the magic!”

“Disgusting rat. We’ll bury you better than Aredian could. No one’s gonna be able t’find you.”

Merlin grimaced, their words cutting him deeply. He shook his head violently, willing their taunts and insults away, for them to feel as horribly as they made him feel. They were standing, ready to come for him, but Merlin’s nostrils flared, and he could see through their fragile bodies to the spark of magic resting in their hearts. The tiny particle that granted them life…and he took it.

To his eyes it was merely a summoning to his hand, a rush of gold to his palm before he released it to the sky, letting the magic choose its next destination or carrier. But when his gaze fell to observe the effect on the mortal bodies…it was as if the magic had been tied to stings inside the men, and now those strings had been yanked to turn the bodies inside out. The heaps of pulpy meat were unrecognizable except for the clothing binding it all together. Rivers of blood trickled down the slope of pebbles into the grass.

After so much noise, the night was oddly tranquil…even musical. Insects continued their song and wrens were already commencing their ode to the dawn. As Merlin tried to remember the way back to the above ground ruins of Hadrian’s Wall, he became keenly aware of all of his injuries, and yet he was numb to them. Somewhere in his medicinal studies he recognized his symptoms as shock, but instead of clammy shivers and restless breathing, he was running hot, and his stride was calm. He internally thanked the grass for being soft to his abused feet, and for once he relished the cold of the night on his scalding skin.

The ruins were easy to find once he surmounted the series of hills; it was hard to miss a glowing tail rippling across the countryside. Every so often a bright blue butterfly would bat its wings across Merlin’s path, and when he emerged through the trees to the broken barricade around the Pendragon estate, the entire opening was covered in the lapis blue butterflies. Merlin stopped between the segments of wall, and extended his hands for the small creatures to flutter onto his fingers. Their wings were opalescent up close, and he saw his dried blood beneath his fingernails.

_“I need to wash before anyone sees,”_ he said to no one. Using the language of magic was like hearing the strange language in one ear, but in the other it was as familiar as English. Some of the butterflies flew from his hands to the front of his shirt, or to his feet. He liked the tickle of their tiny legs on his skin, how delicate they were compared to the brutes who’d stolen him.

_“I’ve killed people,”_ Merlin realized, _“...but I’m not sure what to feel.”_

A single butterfly fluttered in front of his face and Merlin closed his eyes, accepting its landing on his face. He felt the same tingle on his nose, and ventured to open his eyes. He was blinded by the sheer, beaming blue of its wings before it and the others scattered into the night.

For once Merlin did not make a mess of the floor while bathing. On the contrary, every drop landed neatly in the washbasin, and after scrubbing everything carefully, he dumped the water, blood, and soil outside. Careful not to chink the glass of Gaius’s ointments, Merlin rubbed salve across his neck and feet. There was nothing to be done for his ribs but wait; every now and then he coughed painfully and tasted blood, but this could either go away in a couple days or get worse. He would not worry Gaius beforehand if it proved the former.

The sun was already rising when he was ready to dress, but one glance in a mirror told Merlin he would need to make some adjustments. Pulling out the first scarf he found from his winter drawer, he wound it around his neck and all the wounds it held. As for the conspicuous bruise stretching across his cheek, well…

_“Blood, return to your vessels,”_ he ordered as Gaius knocked on his door.

“Merlin? I heard movement. You’re already up?”

He stole a look in the mirror, and the bruise was certainly smaller at least. Merlin opened the door and was not surprised when the physician’s eyes locked onto his cheekbone. “What happened to you?”

“I must’ve landed wrong on my rock pillow,” he answered indifferently, strolling past as calmly as his broken ribs allowed.

“You walked again last night? I never heard you,” Gaius commented, and then observed, “You’re back earlier than usual.”

Merlin shrugged the shoulder on his good side. “Can’t say why. What’s for breakfast?”

He went to the table and scanned the ingredients before he started cracking eggs into a bowl for Gaius’s quiche. He heard the elder man move around him but did not lift his gaze until he was asked, “Merlin…are you all right?”

His inky lashes swept up to meet the old man’s gaze. Merlin ambiguously shook his head, casually replying, “I’m fine. It’s just another morning.”

One of the snowy white brows lifted. “Are you sure? You never help me cook.”

Merlin’s wrist paused its whisking. “Then I’ve been inconsiderate until now. You do a lot for me. This is only right.”

He recommenced his task, leaving Gaius stupefied on the other side of the table. His chin jerked up when the back of Gaius’s hand pressed against his cheek. “Merlin, you’re running a fever,” he exclaimed. “Why do you wear a scarf?”

“It’s not a fever,” he countered, gently pushing the hand away. “It’s the magic. I’m starving. If someone notices I'm warm, they'll think it's because of the scarf.”

But Gaius’s concern did not lessen. Merlin could feel his eyes on him throughout the morning, and when he grew tired of being watched, he left to find something to do around the estate. He did not fancy having to lie repeatedly regarding his bruise, so he ventured outside to tend the garden. Merlin wandered to its edge, far from the training grounds or servants going to and fro. The privacy allowed his mind to lull and for his grimaces of pain to go unnoticed as he leaned over the ground and tended the plants. Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin wondered if a servant hiding in tree all day would be noticed—

“Merlin!”

He had a second’s warning as his gaze lifted and observed Arthur sprinting toward him. Merlin’s eyes widened with panic and his hands reached out to catch the blow that was coming. “No! Arthur! Slow dow—ngh!”

Arthur collided with Merlin’s torso, throwing his arms around Merlin’s shoulders in what he probably meant to be a hug, but Merlin’s body heaved. He desperately held Arthur close so his bloody cough went over the boy's shoulder. He bowed over the grass, causing Arthur to lean back in his lap as Merlin recovered. Lifting a hand, Merlin wiped scarlet from his mouth and transferred it onto his dark trousers as he returned himself and Arthur to erect sitting positions.

“What’s the matter?” Arthur wondered. “Why are you coughing—WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR FACE?”

Merlin blinked heavily as Arthur grabbed his face, turning it to inspect the bruise spread across his cheek. “Did Cook do this? Is she hitting you again? I told her not to!”

“She’s not,” Merlin sighed, trying to laugh but he did not trust himself to without coughing.

“The horses, then? I told you we have stable hands for them. You’re too clumsy to not get kicked by one.”

“I’m all right, my lor—” but his words stuck as Arthur pressed the gentlest of kisses to his cheek, right over the bruise. A delicate softness followed by a tickle.

“Kisses fix things,” Arthur declared as he held Merlin’s face with both hands and stared into his eyes, challenging him to say otherwise.

Merlin managed a shaky laugh. “Who am I to argue?”

“Exactly, so stop getting hurt,” Arthur pleaded as he experimentally poked Merlin’s cheek.

“Where is your sling?” Merlin noticed.

“My shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“You should still wear it. Your arm is healing even if you can’t feel it.”

“What did we just talk about?” Arthur combated, fisting Merlin’s scarf unconsciously. “You can’t argue with me.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin admitted, “but do you know you’re not supposed to sit on your servants?"

Arthur’s pout lowered to survey his straddling position across Merlin’s lap. Never mind that Merlin’s hands were laced together on his lower back. “Well if you’re only good for being a chair, what else am I supposed to do with you?"

Merlin smiled but he wondered, “What are you doing out here, anyways? Gaius didn’t approve for you to return to training.”

“I was looking for you,” he replied, and then suddenly Arthur’s mouth clamped shut.

Merlin peered at him. “Why?”

“I don’t need a reason,” Arthur declared, but a shadow of a lie lingered in his blue eyes. It was then that Merlin noticed the state of Arthur attire; he set to work adjusting the buttons to their proper holes and folding the shirt collar down along with folding the cuffs back. Under his ministrations Arthur relaxed enough to admit, “For some reason…I just woke up thinking you were gone…”

Merlin’s brows perked up while Arthur avoided his gaze. Merlin unwound Arthur's crossed arms to straighten his shirt. “I understand your concern. You wouldn’t last a day against Morgana _and_ Gwen without me.”

Arthur’s fiery blue gaze landed on him. He leaned forward as if to assert his authority over Merlin, but it served more to test Merlin’s restraint against laughter. “I would be fine without you! But I woke up feeling like you’d died and you’re here teasing me! Figures…tease Arthur when he’s scared. Won’t you ever change, _Merlin?”_

“I hope not, my prince. You’d get bored,” Merlin soothed, using his fingers to right Arthur’s mussed bedhead. “Does Ygraine know where you are?”

Before Arthur could respond, though, an unfamiliar voice answered for him. “How touching. It isn’t often a lordly sort befriends the servile.”

“Who are you?” Arthur demanded, quickly regaining his footing. Merlin shot to feet as soon as Arthur was off him. The stranger observing them was none other than the woman he had met upon first arriving into town, whose son was shot just through those trees…

“You shouldn’t be here,” Merlin warned.

“But I’ve been invited,” the woman countered. “It will be the young duke’s birthday by the month’s end, and a source of entertainment is wanted. They can't prohibit the festivity's singer from the property.”

“I didn’t want a—” Arthur began but Merlin placed a gentle hand on his chest, curtailing his words.

“You were banished from this place three years ago. Whatever you want, it isn’t here.”

The woman’s scraggly hair hung on either side of her aged face. Her plump lips pressed into a tight line. “I want my son. I want his spirit to rest, but nothing can grant either to me, not even that which the foul Duke wishes to suppress—”

“Foul? Did you just—” Arthur exclaimed limply as he realized he was out of his depth.

“I admit, I grew impatient,” the woman stated, taking a step forward. Merlin’s stance matched hers, smoothly stepping in front of Arthur. “I meant to wait for the heir to grow…I wanted the Duke to see his treasure and all his labors come to fruition before I took it all away.”

Merlin felt Arthur’s fist in his shirt. “You’re not taking anything or anyone. You’ve overstayed your welcome.”

The woman laughed, then. “Dear child, you know nothing.”

“I know more than you,” Merlin uttered darkly as his eyes bloomed with gold fire.

Her eyes instinctively lightened as well, causing Arthur to gasp and rush to Merlin’s side, but the older boy’s arm circled Arthur’s head so his hand covered his eyes. “Don’t look,” Merlin whispered against his hair as he saw the woman’s lips begin to move with incantation—

BA-KOOOWH.

Both Merlin and Arthur startled at the sound of a gunshot. Merlin’s eyes dulled back to blue as the woman fell onto her front. Arthur pulled his hand down and stared at the lifeless form until his head swiveled in the direction from which it came. “Papa!”

Throwing Merlin’s arm off him, he sprinted to where Uther stood with his steward. He draped an arm around his son while he handed the pistol to his servant. “I thought Aredian was supposed to take care of this,” he growled.

“The witch hunter hasn’t been seen, my lord,” the steward apologized. “We cannot find him.”

Uther sighed and dropped his gaze to Arthur hugging him like a tree. “No matter. We’re all right now, aren’t we, Arthur?”

Merlin turned and took steps toward the house, preferring not to see the nod of Arthur’s head and the adoring gaze toward his savior. But then he heard, “Who is that servant? I’ve seen him but I’ve forgotten his name.”

“That’s Merlin,” Arthur piped. “Merlin, come here!”

_He didn’t see,_ Merlin assured himself as he strode forward. _He stood behind you. He couldn’t have seen…_

“My lord,” Merlin greeted mutely, shaking the Duke’s hand with a slight bow.

“Gaius has had much to say about his apprentice over the years,” Uther replied. “I am glad his esteem was not ill founded. I saw you stand between my son and that woman.”

Merlin swallowed dryly. “Anyone else would have done the same, my lord.”

Uther chuckled. “Your faith is admirable but the reality is not so. You knew what she was?”

“I did, my lord.”

“What experience do you have with such beings?” Uther inquired. Merlin refrained from glancing at the corpse just meters away, willing his mind to ignore how she was a human, a mother with a son; how she was not entirely different from Uther’s wife, not a foreign being to be hated at all.

“I come from a rural village, my lord. They’re superstitious of Druids there.”

Uther nodded his understanding. “Strange blessings have come from stranger places." Merlin’s eyes lifted and caught the glance Uther made to his servant. “As Arthur grows older I fear this will seem the least of our troubles. Good servants are hard to come by. You will be instated as my son’s personal steward.”

Merlin was silent as if he was waiting for Uther to finish speaking, and when the words finally filtered into cognizance, Merlin had nothing to say. Personal steward? Did that mean he was not Gaius’s apprentice anymore? Was he both a steward and an apprentice now? Steward…he would have to attend on Arthur night and day. Yesterday Merlin wouldn’t have minded, but now…

“I’ve never heard you be speechless before,” Uther mused, returning Merlin to the present. The Duke’s gaze was on his son, who appeared as puzzled as Merlin felt.

“What will I need a steward for?” Arthur wondered perplexedly. “I only mean…the maids do everything already…”

“Your mother’s maids have work to do _here,”_ Uther explained. “You will need someone to attend to your appointments, luggage, finances, and more as you grow older and travel. The life of a duke is in constant motion, and you will need someone to keep up. You are still boys in the meantime, though. Merlin will continue his work with Gaius and gradually add on his duties to you by the time of your debut, Arthur.”

“Debut?” Arthur repeated, but Merlin had already tuned them out. At some point he registered that he was dismissed, and he went to help with the laundry—purely for the sake of being someplace quiet. Most of the maids waited until after supper to do the laundry, so the room was empty for the majority of the day. The only person who disturbed him was Guinevere.

“Hello,” she greeted sweetly. “Merlin…right?” He nodded while he folded the plush towels. “News spreads quickly around here. Congratulations on being Arthur’s steward…that’s nice, isn’t it?”

“If you like prats,” Merlin replied limply.

Guinevere chortled, taking one of the towels from his grasp. “He’s not so bad, I think. He comes off as really sweet…if a tad overbearing.”

Merlin couldn’t refute her words. “Being his steward isn’t what’s bothering me.”

Her bright eyes lifted. “Then what is? I mean, if you want to tell me. I’m sorry I’m being nosy…I’m only concerned, that is…”

Her voice sputtered out, leaving Merlin staring at her with a puzzled expression. She looked guilty for a long moment before she smiled apologetically. “I’ve been told I care too much,” she admitted.

Merlin shook his head. “I don’t see why that’s a bad thing.”

Gwen’s shoulders relaxed and after a moment, she returned to folding towels with him. “So what is bothering you?” she tried again.

He was quiet for a long while before he summed up his worries: “I’m not sure I belong here.”

Guinevere’s eyes softened. “What do you mean? You wouldn’t have been promoted if people didn’t want you here. The Duke trusts his son in your care, as does the Duchess. Morgana enjoys your company and you’ve lived here for years with Gaius, right? Take it from someone who knows,” her eyes glinted, “most people think of us as disposable, but they’re holding onto you here. I think you belong just fine.”

Merlin was stunned for a while before his lips curved quizzically. “Haven’t you only been here a couple days?"

Gwen met his smile with her own. “I’m observant.” They laughed together until her duties took her elsewhere, and Merlin went about the castle distributing piles of laundry for the maids to handle.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Ygraine said, smiling at him from her reflection in her desk mirror. A maid was ironing one of her gowns while Ygraine brushed her tangles out. Merlin returned her smile and continued down the corridor, but when he lifted his hand to knock on Morgana’s rooms, a familiar giggle caught his attention.

Merlin peeked around the corner and saw Arthur sitting on a window ledge with Guinevere, who was showing him how to play a game with their hands. “Like this,” she urged. “You have to follow the rhythm.”

Arthur clapped his hands against hers as well as on his thighs and shoulders while she mirrored his movements. Merlin recalled seeing similar games being played in his home village; his mother had taught him a few of the melodies, but it had been so long since he’d played. He wondered if he could remember—

“You did it!” Gwen congratulated when they finished, and leaned forward to kiss Arthur’s cheek…and quickly lurched back the same instant a searing ember tore its way through Merlin’s belly. Gwen’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, but when she removed it to speak, her lower lip was split and a line of blood was running down her chin. “Did…Did you bite me?”

“Huh? No!” Arthur exclaimed, shaking his head desperately. “I would never—Gwen! I swear!”

In his panic, the rosy blush from her kiss blanched and he hopped off the window ledge to run. Guinevere rushed in the opposite direction while Merlin buried his shame into the laundry in his arms and rushed from the scene as well. In any other circumstance, he would have laughed; it was a silly mistake, a misconception of children.

But it wasn’t. Merlin knew his anger, his…jealousy had lashed out and hurt Gwen. Why was he jealous of a kiss? Of Gwen? Guinevere was sweet and kind and did not deserve any harm. Arthur would never _bite_ anyone, even in his lowest moments, and his fondness for Gwen would never allow him to hurt her…but even as Merlin recollected all of these things, he saw her lips connecting with Arthur’s cheek in his mind, and his blood boiled all the more.

_Crriicccaakk!_

Merlin startled away from the sound and his eyes bulged at the sight of a deep crack along the wall. _Did I do that…? Oh no…no no no…_

Before his very eyes, the stone blossomed with cracks, some thin like a spider's threads while others split the stone to the width of his fingers. He dropped a majority of the laundry as he ran. With what remained he clamped to his ears, desperately trying to escape the sounds of fissures breaking through the stone around him, following in his wake.

Ygraine saw in her reflection the flowers on her table shudder. Peeking around, her maids had not seemed to have felt or noticed anything. Striding to the vase Merlin had given her, Ygraine lifted the blooms to see if maybe an insect was the cause of the vibration, but a sound outside her curtains lifted her attention. It was a broken gust of air, like a sob or a whimper. Her blond head peered into the corridor and saw a trail of towels and bedding on one side, and in the other direction was a figure she knew too well dashing out of sight.

Merlin did not trust going outside. Uther was out there. Uther hired Aredian and even if Merlin was not his intended target, he could not trust himself to escape unnoticed. So he rushed downward, to the lowest depths of the fortress. Cook might have yelled when he burst into the kitchen to reach the cellar door, but he couldn’t tell. He did not even bother with the candle since magic was overflowing inside him, lighting his way. He tripped over something that might have been the ice chisel, but he crawled to his feet and kept going. He ran through lower, newer passages of the cellar he had never been to before, until he reached the end and could not run anymore.

_“Emrys,”_ he sobbed, collapsing against the frigid wall. The dragon had never told him a name, but he had said he and Merlin were the same, so he called in the only way he knew how. _“Dragon. Emrys…please…I need help…”_

_Merlin._

He heard it as clear in his mind as if it were said aloud. The power in the voice wracked through Merlin’s trembling form as the wall supporting him grew much warmer.

_Merlin…what’s happened? I can feel you quaking…_

His nails scratched against the rock, clinging to anything and nothing. _I should have stayed in the wall,_ he wept. _I don’t belong here._

_You belong where you are needed most, Merlin. You belong where your heart is._

Merlin tried to sniffle but his nostrils were clogged. _I hurt people…I can’t stay here. There are too many people I could hurt._

The stone he was slumped against grew hot, almost unbearably so from the dragon on the other side. _So much power in one so small…_ it purred. _Give yourself time, young Emrys. You will master it in time._

The slightest temperature change made him mewl weakly and grovel against the wall. _Don’t leave me!_

The heat returned, warming Merlin’s cheek. _I’ll never leave you, Emrys. You can speak to me at any time, anywhere. I will hear._

“Merlin?”

He gasped loudly enough for his voice to break through in a high pitch. A tiny orange light was growing larger on the other end of the cellar as Ygraine approached with the candle. As soon as he whirled around, though, the flame blushed a rich blue. Ygraine’s lips parted in wonder, but her tread never faltered toward him. Merlin curled as tightly as he could on the floor, covering his dewy face and golden eyes.

“D-Don’t…please…” he sobbed, closing in on himself as if this might hold his magic inside. He hiccuped as the indigo light bathed over him, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m not afraid,” she sighed, kneeling before him.

If Merlin could have evaporated, he would have. “Y-You sh-should be.”

“I don’t think so,” she disagreed softly. “Not of you... I would wager this flame wouldn’t hurt me as long as you’re near.”

He peeked through his fingers, aghast as her hand lowered over the candle. _What are you—No! Please don’t—don’t burn her! Please, don’t burn her. Not her…_ he repeated over and over in his mind in the second before the sapphire flame licked across her fingers. Ygraine’s hand rolled upward along the flame, but instead of burning her, it lapped across her skin as if affectionately.

“See?” she whispered. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

Merlin’s arms hugged his knees so all she could see of his face were his eyes. He whimpered. “Will you let me leave?”

Her features opened in shock. “Why?”

His grimace made his sobs come out cracked and jarring. Ygraine worried if he could breathe properly until he spoke, “I can’t control it. I hurt Gwen…I didn’t mean to. It just…happened. But I can’t control what’s inside of me. I don’t want to hurt Arthur. I don’t want to hurt you, or-or Gaius, or Morga…n-na…”

He wept with abandon against his knees, his voice harsh and weak to his own ears, made tenfold by the echo around him. Ygraine set the candle on the floor, causing the blue flame to lick horizontally from its wick as she pulled Merlin into her embrace. He was enveloped by the cloud of her gown, pulled directly to her frame underneath. Her fingers raked through his hair as she guided him to her chest, but when his forehead touched her skin she gasped, “Merlin, you’re burning up!”

She reared back enough to see his face, pressing her hand against his tears and sweat to feel his temperature. “This is unhealthy. How long have you been holding this fever?”

Then, with a deft yank and flip of her fingers, she unwound the scarf from his neck. Her breath halted in her throat. “Oh…oh sweet heart…”

Merlin lethargically leaned back, trying to find the wall again. He grasped his scarf, meaning to cover the raw, open skin of his neck where the noose and his nails had dug and scraped, criss-crossed and hatched. But Ygraine held the fabric down. “Who did this to you?”

His head shook limply. “He’s dead…the witch hunter Uther hired. He got me instead of the woman…when I was sleep walking.”

“Last night?” Ygraine demanded. Her tone was soft but her eyes were almost as livid as the candle flame. “Did this happen last night?”

He nodded, letting his chin drop to his chest. His knees finally lowered to the floor, but with the added space for breath, his lungs overcompensated. Merlin inhaled too quickly, and just as suddenly convulsed in a coughing fit. He was painfully reminded how his ribs were broken as he lurched to one side so his blood spat on the stone instead of Ygraine’s dress. The seizing in his chest subsided as she moved the candle to see the scarlet spray, made purple by the light.

“Merlin, you’re a mess,” she exclaimed, reaching for him. “What happened to you?”

He winced and pushed her hand away when she touched his worst side. “M-My ribs are broken…my lungs are bruised, I think.”

“You think,” she repeated, deadpan. Without further ado, she hoisted his shirt up, inspecting him for herself. She moaned forlornly at the violet splotches across his side. “You need Gaius.”

“No!” he rasped, grabbing her wrist and pleading, “I don’t want to worry him.”

“When shall he worry, then?” she challenged. “When you’re dead and buried from asphyxiation? Unless you can heal this yourself, you need him.”

“I haven’t tried healing something like this,” he informed. “I don’t know how…or how much it will hurt…”

“Then come along,” she purred, once again winding the scarf around his neck. Merlin grimaced slightly at the scrape of fabric against his injuries. “I won’t have my steward dying out of stubbornness.”

“What?” he coughed, stumbling to his feet.

Ygraine smirked over her shoulder at him, the blue light making her hair shades of silver. “Arthur is barely nine. He would have you hiding his books from me and holding his swords all day. You need more to occupy your mind. Besides, I think I’ll enjoy having a steward, especially with the traveling I intend on doing.”

“Travel?” he gulped.

“Yes, I was thinking of a journey northwest…in the same area your mother lives, I believe. I would like to meet her, and you need a better healing source than me. A mother I may be, but nothing quite replaces the original.”

Merlin’s heavy lashes batted against his cheeks as fresh tears calmly raced down his face. “I’m going home?”

Her smile was warm as she leaned into him to kiss his forehead. “Yes, love. You’ve earned a holiday. We’ll have a great many adventures, you and I. I’m tired of living in stone.”

Then, Merlin smiled, so much so that he could barely see out of his eyes. As they climbed their way out of the cellar, Ygraine’s candle returned from blue to orange.


	3. High Society

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A week later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll go ahead and say this now: Ygraine and Merlin's relationship is in no way pedophiliac. They're just super close because yes to friendship.

A week later.

“Have you packed the trunk, Merlin?” Ygraine asked.

“Yes, my lady, and your toiletries are in a separate bag. I tried to arrange it so you could find outfits easily instead of searching for individual garments. Is that all right? And your necklaces keep getting tangled, so I used these reeds to separate them…”

Ygraine laughed at the sight of the thin straws through which the chains were clasped. “You’re already better than my best maid,” she grinned. “You didn’t forget to write to your mother, did you?”

“She should have received it yesterday or the day before, if the post kept its pattern,” he replied as he vigorously made her bed. He had been up at the crack of dawn in his excitement to leave, and Ygraine had woken easily at the gentle knock on her door and the smell of coffee as Merlin set down a croissant stuffed with an egg and bacon onto her bedside table.

“Coffee,” she had hummed, sitting up and pouring from the copper kettle first. “Cook keeps a sack of beans for me but somehow my maids always forget she has it…or they don’t want to grind them. How did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Merlin had admitted as he carefully opened one of her windows to let in the morning air. “I read that it helps people wake up.”

“Eager to go?” she had chuckled, but as Merlin helped her get ready he sensed she was just as impatient to leave. Halfway through packing Ygraine opened the window all the way and inhaled deeply, as if trying to consume the sky outside of the estate before her body managed to escape.

“Gaius is making us sandwiches to take with us,” Merlin informed, fluffing her pillows even though she would not be using them for some time. He tucked the sheets and coverlet around the corners so the bed looked like it was cut from a cake. “Cook uses too much garlic in her spreads but I’ve packed a few of her jams. Gaius is also preparing a small medical kit, just in case.”

“Wonderful,” she smiled, although she was not referring to the food. In the past few days Merlin had spoken more than he had in the three years he’d lived here. Ygraine was happy to see the change in him; after his ordeal with the witch hunter she feared he would recede inside himself permanently, but having someone else who knew about his powers seemed to raise a massive weight from his shoulders.

He wore a plain off-white scarf for travel today, but with her encouragement he had managed to close his skin with magic. A rough scar remained, but she was sure that he could erase that with practice. Gaius had given him a firm lecture on coming to him for injuries as well as keeping secrets this detrimental, but he’d also brewed Merlin’s favorite tea and toasted bread to go alongside a bowl of stew in the process. Ygraine would never say how adorable he looked with flushed cheeks wet from crying as he sulked over his meal, mouth full of meat and carrots.

Merlin’s shirt rode up as he reached to dust her shelves, and Ygraine could see the starched bandages Gaius had wrapped to stymy too much movement on Merlin’s part, but he seemed impervious to the pain as he efficiently rushed about the room, getting more done than her three maids could do in an entire day. “Don’t lift that trunk by yourself,” she warned. “We’ll have the stable hands carry it down.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” Merlin informed. “The magic helps.”

“If the magic helped your ribs heal any faster then fine, but until otherwise you’re not to touch it.”

She guffawed when he sent a pouty glare in her direction. She reckoned that expression had previously been reserved for his mother teasing him, but she was glad to see more of his personality. She did not fault Merlin for avoiding the pain of fusing his ribs, but that did not keep her from poking fun at him.

A knock on the door brought their attention to Gaius pushing through the curtains with a rigid rucksack of sandwiches and assorted meals, as well as another, smaller pack chinking with glass vials of herbal pastes. Under his arm was Merlin’s blue volume. “Good morning, Ygraine. Merlin, pack this someplace you won’t forget it,” he handed over the book and Merlin crammed it inside his own rucksack which he had first arrived at the estate with. “And, erm, you have a visitor before you go.”

Setting the burdens in his arms down, Gaius revealed Arthur behind him, bleary eyed from sleep with his blond hair sticking up in all directions. “I thought Merlin was…was my steward…” he yawned and then grumbled. “Why are you taking him?”

“Because Merlin understands my needs and knows the land well.” Ygraine knelt before her son, mussing his hair all the more and kissing between his brows.

“Why can’t I come?” he wondered.

“Gaius is putting you through physical therapy to make sure your shoulder is battle ready in time for your birthday,” she convinced. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“How long is that?” he challenged, his eyelids blinking groggily.

“You could use the lesson in patience, sweetling,” she kissed his cheeks with finality. Arthur seemed to consider that for a moment before he dragged his feet over to Merlin, whom he slumped against. Arthur leaned into him without raising his arms, as if a proper hug was too much effort.

“Come back,” he said, muffled against Merlin’s shirt.

“I will,” Merlin assured, rubbing between his shoulder blades.

“I don’t know why she’s taking you,” Arthur uttered, although he did not rise off of Merlin as he finished, “It’s not like you’re the best servant here. I mean that. You’re terrible.”

Merlin pressed his lips together as pressure built in his chest, begging to laugh. Gaius chuckled softly across the room and Ygraine pressed her fingertips to her lips to keep her giggles quiet.

“Thank you, sire,” Merlin replied softly.

Arthur leaned off of him and trudged back to Gaius’s side. “Have a safe journey, my lady, Merlin. Enjoy yourselves.”

He guided Arthur out by his shoulders to leave Merlin and Ygraine to finish preparing. He also sent up a pair of stable workers to carry their luggage down where the carriage and two mares were waiting. Uther came out to send Ygraine off, pulling her close for a kiss and a mild scolding.

“Tell me truthfully, wife,” he murmured, sliding a stray lock of her blond hair behind her ear. “Why do you insist on this trip at the spur of the moment?”

“Because I can, husband,” she replied serenely.

“It’s not safe for a woman to travel alone,” he stated with a glance toward Merlin, who kept his eyes on anything to look productive instead of eavesdropping. “A boy can hardly protect you.”

“And yet you trusted our son in his care,” she rebuked. “You may be a duke but I am your Duchess. See to it that Arthur doesn’t dislocate something else while I’m gone.”

Merlin peeked over and caught an uncanny resemblance to Arthur’s scowl on Uther’s face. He hastily looked away as husband and wife shared another kiss before the horses started through the gates.

“You know, Merlin,” Ygraine commented as they settled inside the carriage. “I don’t recall a horse arriving with you when you joined us. Did you use travel stations?”

“I walked, my lady,” he said, opening the interior curtains to let in the sunrise.

“We’re alone, Merlin,” she reminded, “and you were barely eleven. How long did that take you?”

“A few days,” he admitted, “but in our village there are a lot of thatched roofs, so we know how to live outside if repairs are being made. We’ve also housed bandits on occasion, the nice ones at least. They told us how to avoid the bad ones.”

“Still very brave of you,” she appraised. Her shoulders relaxed against the rocking carriage. “I can’t remember the last time I slept under the stars.”

“You did?” he asked, intrigued.

“Oh yes,” she smiled. “Believe it or not, Uther married below his station. Quite the scandal.”

Merlin’s lips parted in wonder. “But…you carry yourself as a duchess should…or how I would imagine. You’re the only one I know.”

“I was born a lady,” she acquiesced, “but far below the Pendragon dukedom, from a little known family. My father did a favor to a prominent earl in the south and was rewarded with an invitation to an art exhibition. Several members of high society were also invited, including the heir Pendragon. The rest is history. He called it love at first sight. Everyone else called it a mistake of lust.”

Merlin gaped, but his expression gradually deepened into a grimace. “That’s cruel,” he murmured. “The Duke treats you well, though…doesn’t he? I mean other than…”

“His disloyalty didn’t surprise me,” she said with a mirthless laugh. “The irony is just how it was with his closest friend’s wife, a woman of high standing in birth as well as marriage.”

“That doesn’t make her better than you,” Merlin countered.

Ygraine’s head tipped to the side curiously. “You’re very unique in your way of thinking.”

“He always comes back to you,” Merlin elaborated. “He loves you constantly…at least he should. You created his heir. He loves Arthur more than anything.”

“Exactly, more than anything,” she smiled gently. “I’m all right with coming second. Arthur is first in my life as well. Sometimes our purpose is to add to others’ lives, or even to create them.”

Merlin scowled. “That makes you sound replaceable. No one could replace you.”

Ygraine laughed, her eyes twinkling lightly. “How did your mother ever send you away?”

Merlin’s chin dropped and he averted his eyes to the trees and hills passing by. “Several reasons…magic keeps my metabolism high, higher than she could feed, but that was the least of it. No one believes magic exists anymore, but any unexplainable phenomenon instantly raises deep superstitions. Accidents kept happening around me and it got to a point where people began to ask questions. The travelers who passed through our village began to change…we had missionaries before but more recently they were militant and would preach things that riled the people's spirits. Rural people are suspicious of Druid activity as it is, but having someone claiming to be blessed by a righteous entity telling them it’s right to do whatever is necessary to eliminate a culture founded around trees and nature…I don’t know what trees did to get such a bad reputation.”

Ygraine could not help but laugh as she understood, “It became unsafe for you to stay there. Were you frightened?”

“For my mother,” he nodded. “I’m not there to help her with the crops or with cooking…the neighbors are kind for the most part but they protect their own.”

“You’re good to worry about her,” Ygraine soothed. “She will be immensely happy and relieved to see you.”

The morning light illuminated Merlin’s eyes as he returned his gaze to her. “You said you were from the south? How far south?”

“The sea,” she grinned. A giggle escaped her throat at the wonder blooming across Merlin’s face. “Have you seen the southern sea or the western ocean?”

He shook his head. “No…but I’d like to.”

“I’ll take you,” she promised. “I think you will like them very much. The ocean…it’s endless. The sea is similar, but sometimes on a clear day you can see the coast of our neighboring countries.”

“I’ve read stories about sea creatures,” Merlin proffered. “How true are they?”

“Oh quite true,” her tone darkened theatrically, “but you won’t see them on the beach. You need to sail far out to where they dwell and coax them from the deep.”

Merlin listened intently as she spoke, and the journey progressed relatively quickly with the distraction of conversation. With the carriage and good weather, they arrived in the late afternoon when the sun was casting orange light across the quaint valley Merlin called home. Ygraine reclined in the shadows until she joined Merlin in watching the curious gazes of passersby observing their carriage stroll past.

“It’s far more colorful than I imagined,” she observed. “The countryside is usually so green…does every home have those flower boxes?”

“Most of them, yes,” Merlin narrated. “Gaius keeps talking about ordering lumber to build some for the herbs he frequently uses—he thinks the pots take up too much space in our rooms.”

“I’ll send him some encouragement,” she approved. “Uther might throw a fit, seeing vines of flowers hanging from our windows. The man is made of stone himself some days.”

“But we’re not,” Merlin smiled at her.

Ygraine met his expression with an intrigued smile. “We’re certainly not.”

He silently gasped as he realized where they were and swung the door open to call to the driver, “Just around the corner to the left! Last house on the right!”

They felt the carriage turn along the road and sway to a halt. Merlin leapt out and extended a hand for Ygraine. She curled her arm with his as he lead the way to a front door painted lapis blue and framed by a whitewash home. The windows were overgrown with colorful and fragrant herbs; pink petals littered the ground beneath their feet as the door opened before they reached it, revealing a modestly dressed woman with an ecstatic grin to match Merlin’s. Ygraine easily unwound her arm so he could run forward and meet his mother’s embrace.

“My sun,” she laughed warmly, holding him close and cradling the back of his head. “Heavens, you’re as tall as me, now!” she scolded playfully, retracting enough to litter his cheeks and forehead with kisses.

“You’re still the sky, Mama,” he said while halfheartedly evading the kisses. Ygraine covered her giggles, her heart swelling with the peek inside Merlin’s upbringing.

“You’re going to be tall as the clouds next,” she combed his hair off to the side before her gaze slid over to Ygraine.

“I’m being rude! Merlin wrote and said you would be coming—I’m Merlin’s mother, Hunith. You much be the Duchess Ygraine—”

She grasped her skirts to curtsy, but Ygraine stymied, “Please, that isn’t necessary. I’d like to remain inconspicuous, if I can.”

Hunith’s brows reached for her dark hair neatly tucked beneath her kerchief. “Of course! That shouldn’t be hard—people here will believe anything you tell them—I’m only sorry we haven’t any palettes like the beds you must be used to.”

“She can use my bed,” Merlin declared, but then his eyes locked on Hunith’s white sleeve that was not a sleeve, but a bandage. Her actual, peach colored sleeves where folded up to her elbows and the bandage extended across the majority of her forearm. “Mama, what is this?”

“Just a burn, sweetheart,” she scolded. “I rushed too quickly to get the cakes out of the oven.”

“I’m sure Gaius packed us with a salve to help that along,” Ygraine narrated as Merlin delicately unwrapped the gauzy, breathable fabric.

“We don’t need a salve,” Merlin countered quietly as his eyes roamed over the harsh scarlet indention where Hunith’s arm had touched the rim of the oven.

 _“Merlin,”_ she warned authoritatively as his eyes began to shimmer gold.

“Best take this inside,” Ygraine announced, gently guiding Merlin and Hunith aside for the driver to carry their luggage over the threshold. “We don’t need to feed gossip to the neighbors.”

Hunith’s doe eyes flicked up with a mixture of worry and suspicion. She watched Ygraine speak with the driver before he set off back down the drive and whispered to Merlin, “Does she know?”

Her son's eyes flicked up to meet hers and he nodded once. “It’s all right. She came to meet you, and for me. We’re safe with her.”

Their attention diverted to the woman returning by their sides. Ygraine beamed and asked, “Now what was it about these cakes I’ve heard so much about?”

Merlin closed the door behind them while Hunith proffered a bowl piled with toasted brown loaves, small enough for individual people. The compact living room smelled of butter, nutmeg, and vanilla along with the drying herbs hanging beside the mantle.

“Oh my…” Ygraine uttered, covering her mouth so crumbs did not spill. “This is divine! What do you do to keep it moist?”

“Mashed apples,” Hunith smiled, “and bananas whenever traders come through with a decent enough price.”

Her chin turned toward her son, who stood idly by the luggage with his book in his hands. Her lips parted when his eyes bloomed familiarly, causing her to glance at the Duchess. Ygraine followed her concerned look toward Merlin and chuckled with a wave of her hand. “He’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

Hunith’s gaze turned quizzical, not entirely sure how to take someone being so blasé about Merlin’s powers. Merlin, however, was not paying attention since he was absorbed in the book, flipping through to find the healing methods he needed. In regards to fire he read, _Less is more. Fire can slowly burn or ravenously consume. Fire must be healed with its equal and opposite: water. Water can thrash or wear away the earth over time, but water is gentle while fire is fierce. Healing from the flame should mimic this: keep your words simple and direct…_

He approached his mother and took her wrist in his hand, cradling her forearm over his palm so his thumb rested alongside the burn. He took a moment to read more of the passage as well as the words entwined in the diagram of fire battling water, but the gist was overall the same.

 _“Waters of the flesh, I ask for your aid,”_ he uttered intently. _“Heal what fire has harmed where my hand rests...”_

He could see trickles of gold rush under her skin to the burned area, where they knitted together as his thumb traveled lightly over the burn. Hunith gasped as the tingles were almost painful in her arm, the burn healing before her eyes. Merlin’s thumb left her arm, leaving unblemished skin behind.

Merlin’s eyes could see the threads of magic lingering, though, twinkling pleasantly back at him. He lifted fading eyes to his mother’s amber ones. “All right?”

“Yes, thank you,” she exhaled in a rush. “Merlin, that was…well, far more convenient than the last time you tried to help me.”

His expression dropped to into a deadpan look. “I meant to clear the chimney, not invite birds to it.”

“Nonetheless,” she sassed, rolling her sleeve back down her arm. “It’s a relief to see progress. Here, eat something. I know you're starving.”

She pressed the bowl of cakes against his abdomen and he obediently stuffed one into his mouth. Hunith shook out her forest green skirt and crossed the room to move the luggage out of the way of the front door. Merlin was in the process of sitting at the kitchen table but immediately shot to his feet. “Mama, I’ll handle those. You’ve worked enough—”

“I’ve handled myself quite well over the last two years. You needn’t make anything up to me,” she swiftly intercepted, pointing toward the seat. Merlin sank back down, filling his cheeks with honey cakes.

Ygraine kept her amused thoughts to herself and silently observed how Hunith carried the trunk and bags to deeper realms of the house. “Well done, you.”

Merlin perked up with an inquiring look. She reiterated, “Not so hard when you set your mind to it.”

But when Merlin did not answer, Ygraine turned inquisitive. She watched his eyes lower to the bowl on his lap as he finished his cake and set it back on the table. It was almost as if he had not heard her, or his mind was too preoccupied to respond. Hunith returned and smiled. “Would you like to see your room?”

“Certainly,” Ygraine stood.

“Merlin, would you tend to the dishes? This place should only smell like burnt butter for so long.”

He turned to the fireplace where a large bucket waited and silently left to fill it at the communal water pump. Ygraine’s attention was steered toward Hunith when the latter observed, “You seem troubled, my lady.”

“Ygraine,” she insisted, “and I was just thinking…Merlin was so talkative on the way here. I wonder if I’ve upset him.”

Hunith smiled with a glance over her shoulder. “Don’t take it to heart. He thinks more than he speaks, and sometimes one has to reign over the other.”

“He is wise for such a young man,” Ygraine commented before her gaze alighted on the towers of books piled around the Merlin's bedroom. She guffawed, “Oh! Well, it’s hardly a surprise anymore.”

Hunith mirrored her laugh and opened the trunk to find the toiletry bag and set it on the table beside the washbasin. “We have a tub, but it’s currently a storage receptacle in the cellar. It would take some time emptying it and cleaning it.”

“Not to worry,” the Duchess assured as she read over the spines of Merlin’s books. The bed was narrow for one person and low to the ground, but the mattress looked full and evenly plush, as did the pillows. Other than the table, bed, a small chest for clothes, and books, the room was sparse.

“Might I ask how you learned about my son?” Hunith ventured.

Ygraine peeked at her guiltily, “My husband is away in the capital often, and it falls on me to look over the house and its occupants. I’m a nosey sort, and like to know how each person operates.”

She paused with her fingers grazing over the worn leather and fabric bindings before she admitted, “You’d never guess it now, but my son used to be quite a recluse. It is largely my fault since I keep him at home instead of joining his father on his travels, but the moment Merlin arrived I knew something was different. Arthur did not have much by way of friends, but their relationship was immediate. I came to notice how little things in Arthur’s life began to change: his irreparable toys were fixed and the times when our cook burnt the morning crumpets, everyone’s would have singed edges except my son’s.

“Truthfully, I think I knew the first birthday Arthur celebrated after Merlin joined us. The poor thing had over excited himself and the chilled evening caused him to fall ill, but a night spent with Merlin cured him good as new. Arthur’s immune system used to be incredibly frail; a cold could leave him bedridden for a month, but there haven’t been any problems since.”

Hunith’s eyes were knowledgeable as she replied. “I’m sure they are glad to have each other’s company.”

Ygraine snorted in her throat. “They’d never admit it aloud. Stubborn boys, especially since Arthur is gradually discovering the mystique of women. We’ve adopted a lovely girl, about Merlin’s age, and she has a maid not much younger whom Arthur is quite smitten with. He and Merlin are dealing with the new residents rather differently.”

Hunith’s expression changed, but only slightly. “That is to be expected. Merlin was always a little different than other boys.”

Ygraine tipped her head at this and turned to face Hunith. “How do you mean, other than the obvious?”

This garnered a laugh before Hunith explained vaguely, “You can see it as the children grow up in the village. The boys always have a curious fascination with girls and chase them around…Merlin didn’t.”

“There is nothing wrong with having alternate interests,” Ygraine considered. “I envy you to some extent. Merlin is an incredibly well behaved boy, whereas I stay awake at night dreading the moment Arthur chases ladies for reasons other than sweets or card games.”

Hunith guffawed and straightened her kerchief. “Energetic, is he?”

Ygraine took a moment to roll her eyes and shake her head. “He’s a good boy, really…he just gets caught up in things too easily for his wellbeing. Again, this is where Merlin has been a blessing to our lives; he keeps Arthur grounded in a way I don’t know how. Arthur will drop everything if there is a threat to Merlin. The arguments I’ve had to break between him and our cook…” She sighed, exhausted just thinking about it.

Hunith chortled. “Was Merlin pinching the berries?”

Ygraine threw a hand up as she shrugged. “Who knows? He’s just as likely to steal the raspberries for himself or the cherries for Arthur. What is it you do for fun? It’s been so long since I wasn’t a proper lady.”

Hunith was not fazed by the subject change and provided, “Merlin and I can give you the tour. The village isn’t as large as the city but the walk along the lake is nice, and fried apple chips are sold in the street for pennies.”

“Sounds delightful,” the Duchess smiled the same moment a muted shriek came from the kitchen, along with the loud clatter of pots and pans on the floor. Hunith easily slid past Ygraine to find Merlin buried under the skillets and things that had previously been hanging along a rack by the sink.

“I didn’t mean to break it!” he instantly apologized, easing the bars of the rack off of himself. “I was just—”

But Hunith stepped into the wreckage and cradled her son’s face to kiss his forehead and nose. “I missed you.”

His brow furrowed while his gaze dropped. He mumbled something that sounded like, “Betitwasquieterwithoutme…”

She pinched his ears to wag his head, physically clearing his thoughts. “You know I’d rather live with your noise than the quiet. Let’s patch this up and go for a walk. We have just enough time before dinner.”

After the rack was mounted on the wall and Hunith loaned Ygraine one of her kerchiefs, they strolled through the village. The citizens accepted that the Duchess was a distant relative well enough; that she was from the city visiting and had picked up Merlin in town on the way. Apple slices fried with sugar and cinnamon into crisps came in folded paper bowls for easy transport. Gaius had given Merlin a small coin purse for leisurely spending, so his mother and Hunith had a bowl while he had three.

They did not make it to the lake since the sun descended quickly, but supper was roasted duck with mashed potatoes and parsnips. When Merlin stood to take his plate to the sink his mother caught his elbow to say, “Why don’t you have the other breast and wing?”

“You’re going to make a pot pie with the remains, right?” he responded, and gently freed his arm to commence with the dishes. Hunith then offered Ygraine another glass of wine, which she readily accepted. Once Merlin finished cleaning, he sat by the fireplace with his book after unrolling his palette for the night. Ygraine and Hunith moved their nightcaps to the former’s room to give him some quiet.

“How late do you usually stay up?” Hunith inquired.

“Not much later than this,” the Duchess admitted. “Arthur’s an early riser.” She was in the middle of a sip when she realized, “You left the cakes on the table. Won’t they spoil?”

Hunith smiled with a shake of her head. “I’m hoping Merlin will take care of them. He ate too little today.”

Ygraine considered that and uttered, “He feels guilty about pressuring you to keep food in the house…he does seem a little highly strung. I meant for this trip to ease his worries.”

“I thank you for bringing him back to me,” Hunith assured, “but there are some things even I cannot fix. His memories here are not luminous, the way children’s recollections should be. He was lonely here, and he shouldn’t have to starve himself for me.”

“Starve?” Ygraine was taken aback.

The smile remained on Hunith’s face, but her eyes were sad. “He’s always hungry. He is given food, but the magic steals it from him. I’ve often feared for his health but his power protects as much as it thieves.”

Ygraine’s features remained motionless, but internally she questioned Hunith’s words. If his power protected him…then why wouldn't his ribs heal by themselves? She would not dare broach the subject with his mother, however; Hunith worried enough for her son.

Meanwhile, Merlin’s lids grew heavy as he set his volume down and stared into the dying embers of the fire. Occasionally flames would curl out from between the coals, licking along the fuel before tucking inside the bed of heat once more. Merlin’s lashes clouded his gaze, but through them he saw the shimmer of blue in the embers, a stray flame of lapis and white heat instead of orange and yellow.

 _Dragon…_ he thought.

 _Yes, Emrys,_ it answered readily.

_You’re touching my power…I can feel it, but I can’t sleep walk tonight. It’s too dangerous._

_Rest easy, little warlock,_ the voice soothed. _My caves run wide and deep. I am directly below you; this is why you can feel me. I am with you tonight and won’t call you nearer. How are you feeling? I sense pain in you._

_My ribs are broken._

There was a pause. _Why do you not heal yourself? Surely you know how._

_I’m afraid of the pain._

Another pause, but this one allowed Merlin a second to ponder how he had never noticed the warmth in his mind whenever he and the dragon conversed until now. The heat seeped like molten butter through his mind and down his spine, heavily coating his bones like caramel. It made sense, now, how he had never fallen ill after countless nights of cold wanderings.

 _You mustn’t let their words trouble you, Merlin,_ he said, reading through Merlin’s concerns. _They were petty and weak. Gnats to your fire, and you destroyed them as nature dictated. Do not suppress your magic for anyone._

 _Killing isn’t right,_ he refuted. _I don’t want to be a murderer._

_You are young, and will remain idealistic a while yet, but a time will come when this is no longer an option. When it arrives, embrace it. Let what you were born with consume you. Magic will never steer you wrong._

His eyes were closed but the light of the fireplace danced across his lids, flickering in his dream. _I can’t trust it. It’s always trying to reach out of me. It hurts innocent people._

 _Does it?_ the dragon challenged tranquilly. _Or is it more honest than yourself?_

Merlin rolled deeper on his side, wincing with the adjustment to his ribs. _If the things my magic does without my consent…are how I really feel…then I am the monster they credited me for._

A long, measured sigh filled his skull, thrumming as the dragon’s voice reverberated at the end of his breath. _Humanity has forgotten itself…or perhaps it never knew, because it has constructed walls and leashes around itself, controlling your most natural urges. Magic you may be, but you are still a human vessel, and humanity is selfish, wanton, passionate, and lovely. It is fragile and invulnerable. Embrace all of these within yourself, Emrys, because in the end you are also unlike all of them. Humanity will always fade to rest within the earth, but you could dance among the stars._

 _Sounds lonely…_ Merlin wondered.

The dragon chuckled. _Then stay on the ground, young one, and mingle. But do not ever place yourself below them when you have the wings to fly._

 _What about you?_ Merlin asked. _You’re literally below the ground but you have wings._

 _I told you,_ he reminded, _I am bound here._

 _I broke the wall,_ Merlin countered. _The magic holding you is broken._

 _And when you did this I said something else tied me here,_ the dragon continued. Merlin could almost _feel_ him nodding while he spoke, his mind so connected with Merlin’s. _Something other than magic._

 _Something stronger,_ Merlin nodded along, _but what is stronger than magic?_

He chortled once more. _A wonderful, painful, curious thing. A strange phenomenon you can see and do, feel and taste, yet cannot hold nor trade. You will know it soon enough._

 _You’re doing it again,_ Merlin chided. _Why can’t you just tell me?_

 _Oh but I have,_ the voice taunted. _It’s not my fault you aren’t paying attention._

It was Merlin’s turn to sigh haughtily. _You’re annoying._

The dragon’s laugh rippled like bath water through his mind. _And I enjoy our discourse immensely. Sleep well, Merlin. Let your magic take care of you._

Merlin let the heat of his voice and presence bathe over him, lulling him into a deep slumber. When he woke, his bandages were pliable from sleeping on them and there was a dull ache throughout his ribcage, but overshadowing it were spikes in his belly demanding food.

Sighing raggedly, Merlin slid his knees under him and slowly stood to find his mother expertly moving around the kitchen in silence. Only the dining table separated the living room from the kitchen, but it was already holding up a platter of eggs, tomatoes, sausage, and toast as well as pancakes while she worked on creating the potpie for lunch.

“Go on and eat, love,” she ushered, “Ygraine is just in her room with tea. You needn’t wait on formality.”

Not needing to be told twice, Merlin shoveled eggs into his mouth along with a bite of sausage that took away half the link. Reaching for the cakes, he freely poured syrup over it all and hardly cared when it ran over the other items on his plate. A few moments later Ygraine emerged with her cup of tea and settled next to Merlin at the table as her eyes examined the flat, fluffy looking cakes into which his fork plunged.

Following his lead, she took one onto her plate and poured syrup off to the side to experimentally dip, but with the first bite her eyes lit up. “Goodgawd, what izthis?” she mumbled.

Both Merlin and Hunith cast stunned looks at her. They watched her cut another piece and lift it to her mouth before she noticed them staring. “No really, what is this? And how can I get my maids to bring this to me without Arthur learning of these?”

Son and mother exchanged amused glances before the former promised, “I’m your steward. I can make them for you.”

Hunith rounded to face them again with a grin. “A steward, Merlin? You didn’t tell me!” Then her brow furrowed into a puzzled expression. “Is it normal for a Duchess to have a steward?”

Ygraine waved her fork as if to skewer the matter aside. Merlin giggled into his eggs, liking when Ygraine’s dropped her Duchess facade. “My husband has one who files his papers and holds his bank notes. I’m about to be just as busy as him but I want a competent steward beside me doing more than holding my things.”

“Doing what?” Merlin asked after he swallowed a large mouthful of sausage.

“I told you I’d take you to the sea,” Ygraine teased, but her eyes were entirely serious. “And the capital is on the way. We’re going on a little tour, you and I, and why shouldn’t my dearest friend be my company? You’re already more attentive than all three of my maids combined, and if you cook as well as your mother, I won’t fit my corsets.”

Merlin knew there was some kind of appropriate response to this, but all he could register was _dearest friend_ over and over in his head. Ygraine’s attention had returned to his mother as she said, “And we can swing around to visit here on the way back unless you can tear yourself away?”

Hunith’s eyes widened for a second before she laughed anxiously. “No, no, my place is here, but you’re very kind. I entrust my son in your care.”

“And I in his,” Ygraine grinned, causing Merlin to blush scarlet from his hair to his chest. Despite living and serving this woman for years, Merlin had no idea what he’d done to earn such generosity and trust.

For the rest of the morning he and his mother took Ygraine to the lake: a massive, reflective pool that was seamless with the horizon. It was an ethereal sight, seeing sky and land meld together, the green of the trees blending with the silver and blue of sky and clouds. The Duchess shocked them anew by shedding her outer gown and wading into the pool up to her waist. Plucking the ash wood needles from her hair, the pale golden tips grazed over the water like tentative toes.

Ygraine hardly seemed to mind walking back with her underthings dripping, although this may have been due to the storm rapidly descending upon them. She did not bother retying her hair since it was damp and heavy with rain by the time they returned to Hunith’s cottage, but her eyes were bright with silver and blue, like the storm itself.

Hunith was chopping the ingredients for tonight’s stew while Ygraine munched on the crust of her slice of potpie; she stirred the pot since Hunith did not have a third hand to spare. Merlin was outside, risking rain and health in order to tend to the chickens and other livestock since they had been gone all day. He went ahead and arranged the feeding troughs for it to be easy for his mother to feed them the next few of days, and mucked out the barn so it was absolutely pristine. When the rain passed, the cows would be able to graze outside, causing at least a week to pass before Hunith would need to attend to the barn.

Once he finished, he took his time walking back to the house. Despite the roiling blanket of clouds dancing with lightning bolts, he was not afraid. Merlin had never feared storms. He’d seen old trees blossom with fire after being struck and disintegrate like tinder, but he never feared. He could hear his mother’s voice in his memory, simultaneously worrying and teasing him to come inside. _You’ll catch your death if it doesn’t find you first. I swear, you’d be up in those clouds if you could jump high enough._

For this reason he was often the one exploited for outdoor chores back at the castle when a storm came through. Cook would demand he go harvest from the fruit trees or the stable hands preferred to play cards and drink whiskey than tend to the shy horses. Not that he particularly minded; even though they shoved the work on him, for some reason no one really believed he was quite good with horses, and no one batted an eye if he stayed outside for longer than necessary.

The lapis blue door creaked open, letting in the hum of rain hitting the stone road as well as a sodden Merlin. Hunith was ready with a change of clothes that had been warming by the fire. Merlin raked a hand through his ebony tresses, folding them back along his scalp as he descended to another room to change with a muffled, “Thanks,” to his mother.

Hunith remained where she was, watching him go even after she heard a door shut. “He’s already taller than me.”

“Hmm?” Ygraine perked up from her book and pie.

“His height was even with me when you arrived only yesterday,” Hunith explained. “Now he is taller. Only by a centimeter, but he is growing.”

Ygraine laughed merrily. “As teenagers are wont to do. Do you feel like a mother hen with an empty nest—?”

She startled, then, as a crack of lightning lit up the room better than any amount of candles could. Hunith did not move, a serene curve adorning her lips as she lazily glanced outside to the storm. “It would be foolish to worry about the lightning of a storm, wouldn’t it?”

Ygraine appeared puzzled for a moment, but let the matter rest.

Merlin’s hair was just long enough to fist dry with the towel while he listened to the musical storm thrashing outside. Part of him wished he could return out there, but he needed to repack their luggage into saddlebags since they were leaving on the morrow, and the Duchess wanted to ride instead of laze in a carriage.

As another ripple of thunder shook the house, Merlin could practically hear his bedroom door bursting open once upon a time, during his early days at the Pendragon household. He’d lifted himself onto an elbow to see what the commotion was, his eyes still closed but able to see through the layer of skin at the small, golden figure rushing toward him. He heard the quick _thud thump thud thump_ of Arthur’s feet running across the floor before he dived onto the bed, scurrying frantically under Merlin’s covers as a storm similar to this one ravaged over the castle’s chimney stacks. Merlin could not remember saying anything, although he must have voiced a complaint. What he remembered was closing his arms tightly around Arthur, holding him as desperately as Arthur did him, instinctively protecting the little lord from the storm where the stone around them was somehow not enough. He could feel the little foot on his calf since Arthur’s leg had wedged between his own, seeking as much closeness as possible; the way Arthur’s face nuzzled against his chest with every peel of thunder.

Merlin wondered how Arthur was doing. Much as he tried to hide it as a ripe eight year old, Arthur was not fond of storms, and had kept Merlin up many a night because of it.

Repacking took less time than he’d anticipated since the Duchess showed him a way to fold her garments in such a way that they fit compactly in the saddlebags with minimal wrinkling. “A woman’s tricks,” she’d winked.

The following morning reaped a spotless sky, and Hunith sent them off with a kiss to both their cheeks and a promise to keep the trunk for when they came round. The road south was conveniently nearer to the fields of barns, and Merlin shoved the door open to his before quickly ushering Ygraine out of the way for the eager cows marching out to their pastures.

“Sorry, for some reason our cattle figured out how to open their corral and spread the message to every new cow we get.”

Ygraine giggled but her mirth faded as her breath caught at the sight of the curious long heads peering at them from the end of the barn. A young mare, large enough to be fully grown but lanky like a fowl had a coat so pale it shimmered a translucent white when the sun hit it through the slats. The pearly mane was long enough to drape over her front shoulders, and her eyes had the faintest tinge of blue in the onyx depths.

“That’s Aithusa,” Merlin grinned. “She’s really sweet, and stronger than she looks.”

“How old is she?” Ygraine asked, stroking the wide, silken cheek.

“We’re not sure,” Merlin admitted, coming to stand beside her. The horse quickly exchanged Ygraine’s attention for his, nudging his chest eagerly. He laughed and explained, “I think her mother abandoned her, because she was slimy when I found her.”

“That must have been years ago,” the Duchess pondered, “but she appears to still be growing muscle.”

“She is,” he cooed, soothing the horse with slow pets along her neck and cheeks. “She grows more slowly than other horses even though we feed her the same or more.

“Why do you think that is?” she asked while watching the horse’s long, dusty lashes bat against Merlin’s shirt.

“I have my theories,” he smiled mysteriously. Lifting a hand, he petted aside the forelock to reveal an indention in the skull where a star might have been on other horses. He leaned forward and kissed the spot, garnering a shake of Aithusa’s head. “She’ll take care of you,” he promised, although Ygraine was not sure if he meant the horse would take care of her or vice versa.

Across from Aithusa’s stall was a tall, chestnut horse with a long star of white fur growing between his eyes. Merlin made a point to step to its right side and offered the back of his hand for a sniff. The horse appeared temperamental at first, but when Ygraine saw the contrast between the amber eye and the black one, she understood the horse to be half blind, its left eye made of black glass.

“Mama will see you soon, Pepper,” he cooed to the steel grey horse stretching its neck from the other stall. “You’re not coming with us.”

He pulled a carrot from his pocket and broke it in half for the two horses, earning a snort from Aithusa. Merlin pulled another from his pocket for Ygraine to feed her. The horse was even more impressive outside of the stall, her long tail swishing back and forth, rebelliously swatting Merlin as he trimmed it to a more reasonable length than the floor. Even after the carrot, Ygraine suspected the horse was Merlin’s and Merlin’s alone. Aithusa kept sticking her nose in his saddlebags once they were on the road.

“Stop that!” he waved a hand to shoo the horse away from his undergarments.

“I think she’s angry you haven’t been back to see her,” Ygraine mused, and then she said, “Care for a race?”

Merlin turned puzzled eyes on her. “To where?”

“The next mile marker,” she considered. “Ready?”

“Wha—now?”

“Go!”

Aithusa charged forward and all Merlin could do was settle in his stirrups and usher his horse forward. One of the Duchess’s needles slipped free and her hair tumbled halfway, but she guffawed when Merlin caught up, his pelvis smoothly rotating in his saddle with the ripple of his horse’s spine. Aithusa won, of course, but the prize was a whittled needle of dark cherry wood to replace the one the Duchess lost. At their campsite for the night, Merlin sat by the fire he’d made while whittling the cherry needle alongside her ash one for comparison. The dark red went well with the off white of the ash, and when it was ready he stuck it quickly into the coals to burn away the splinters.

Cleaning it of soot, he asked if she wanted her hair tied again, to which she replied by sitting in front of him. Merlin knelt behind her and loosely combed her silky tresses with his fingers before parting it off to the side. He braided it diagonally across her scalp before entwining her hair in a bun behind her ear. He then carefully pushed his fingertips into her hair, loosening the braid so her scalp was not aggravated. A couple locks fell free to hang around her face, but she did not mind.

“Did your mother teach you this?” she purred contently, her head dipping back under his ministrations.

“Mmhm,” he affirmed. “She says having your hair in one place too long hurts, that it’s better to move it around.”

“Wise as ever, Hunith. Merlin?”

“Hm?”

“Where is your father?”

The fingers in her hair slowed. “I don’t know.”

She nodded gently, not wanting to unsettle his hands, but they said nothing more on the subject.

Two days later, Merlin stared up at the towering structures of London. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, the city outside of the Pendragon Estate included. He had helped Ygraine dress like a proper lady this morning since their last camp was right outside the city. He had grimaced more than she had when it came time to tie her bodice but now he understood why:

Women as well as men strolled the pavement in an unnatural way. Where rural people loped or sauntered toward their work, urbanity held their chests oddly high. Women’s waists were eerily small like hourglasses and the men’s shoulders were padded for a wider stance. The tight stitching in their raiment kept their spines erect and taut. The norm here was rigid and unrelenting.

Yet it was lovely. Merlin was used to seeing cloth draped around people’s heads, but here crisp hats with brims adorned their heads and the buildings were just as likely to be made of whitewashed columns or sooty brick. The colors of women’s gowns and men’s waistcoats reminded him of the gemstones in Ygraine’s jewelry when he’d polished it for feasts. Only the workforce wore boots, and everything else was buttered leather and satin slippers. Merlin even saw a gold chain glinting between a man’s pocket and his waistcoat.

“We’ll only be here a couple days,” Ygraine said. “Ah, here we are…”

They rented two stalls out from the stables behind the apartment building, and when they rounded the front, Merlin craned his neck to take in the five-story façade. Stairs led up to the door flanked by white columns, and three of the levels had wrought iron balconies. The topmost floor was a vaulted ceiling with what looked like skylight windows. Ygraine rang the bell while he ogled their temporary home and a woman who was short and squat and so much like Cook in appearance that Merlin’s hand instinctively lifted to defend against a broom.

“Agatha,” Ygraine smiled, squeezing the woman’s pudgy hand. “Thank you so much for having us.”

“Not a’tall, not a’tall,” the woman cheered, laughing enough for her bosom to tremble like jelly. “How fares my sister? Cooki being as fiery as ever?”

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief but his lungs waited hesitantly. Cook’s sister…

“From the boy’s expression, I’ll be thinking so,” she answered for herself, and Merlin realized he had been staring for too long. The tenant waved him up the stairs. “Up you come, young man, up up! You’ll find my sister and I are quite different in temperament.”

When he was standing next to Ygraine the twinkling eyes of the other woman roamed over him. “You wrote saying you were bringing someone, but I hadn’t thought it’d be a lad. A handsome one to boot.”

_Handsome?_

Merlin and Ygraine exchanged glances: his full of perplexity and hers a mixture of confidence and amusement. “Merlin is my trusted steward. May we come in or are we to sleep on the stoop?”

Agatha harrumphed and waved them inside. “I won’t have you lingering out here a second longer! My top flat is let to you; mind, the stairs are uneven—here Merlin, I’ll take some of those.”

Before Merlin could refuse, she had taken half of the saddlebags and waddled up the stairs with purpose. He observed how she was a head shorter than her sister but just as tireless as they made their way up the winding stairs to the highest flat. Merlin held onto one of Ygraine’s hands to hold her steady while her other hand clutched her skirts out of the way. Their progress was slower than Agatha’s, but by the time they reached the summit, she had already unlocked the flat, set the bags down, and was holding the door for them.

“Been living the life of luxury in your lofty castle, eh?” she winked at Ygraine’s rosy cheeks.

“I know I’ve lived at a rather low elevation,” the Duchess laughed breathlessly. “Chasing after my son is quite different than climbing all those stairs.”

“ ‘Tis worth it, my lady, I promise,” Agatha beamed and waved them through.

Sure enough, it was. Merlin’s vision had deceived him from the ground: at the top of the stairs were two flats, one on the left and another on the right. The one on the left had been the one he’d seen facing the street, but they entered the flat to the right, and the entire ceiling was on a high slant made of glass. Forgetting himself, he pressed himself against it, looking out across the great city that was all chimneys and smoke stacks and pigeons. In the distance were the winding serpentine of the river and a speckling of green to break up the monotonous brown, black, and white. Even the river was a suspicious brown color.

“Do you have gardens here?” he wondered eagerly.

“The city would run mad if we didn’t,” Agatha confirmed. “There’s St. James’s, Hyde Park, the Crystal Palace, and the new Kew Gardens. Really, take your pick.”

“We’ll visit them later,” Ygraine promised with a hand on his back. Something in her words, the way her tone faded at the end turned his head to witness the uncomfortable furrow in her brows. “Help me out of this forsaken cage first. I won’t last another minute.”

Agatha bustled forth. “Not to worry, my lady—” but the Duchess stayed her with a hand in the air.

“Merlin is perfectly capable,” she exhaled while sinking onto the ottoman he rushed over. His fingers were already working down the obscene number of buttons along her spine.

“But…my lady…he is a boy. Men do not help women undress,” Agatha declared.

“He helped me into it, he’ll get me out—hunh! Aahhh…”

Merlin opened the back of her dress and gave the laces of her corset a yank, causing her breath to hitch, but he kept his eyes closed and willed the tight cords to loosen. The laces instantaneously unraveled with the tug, and she breathed relief. “Thank you, Merlin…”

“Yes, my lady,” he returned in passing, unloading the saddlebags into the bedroom as well as airing out a far more comfortable gown for her to change into. Shaking it out and draping it over his shoulder, he carried out the foldable room divider and positioned it in front of the door, creating a partition to keep passersby from peeking in since the door was still open.

“Would be better to put that by the window,” she chirped sharply, obviously disapproving of the situation.

“We’re higher than anyone else,” he refuted and ducked a hand beneath the hem of Ygraine’s dress to take her riding boots off before he grasped her hands to help her to stand. “No one will see.”

He eased the gown down first and she stepped out of it the same moment she tossed her corset aside. It landed heavily on the slate tiles, the wale bones inside it clattering. While Merlin folded her blue silk gown with its gold vines stitched across it for a later date, she placed her hands on her hips and looked out over the city.

“You don’t fold a gown, silly boy,” Agatha corrected, stepping forward to alter his movements.

“Let him be, Agatha,” Ygraine countered without looking back. “He does as I’ve instructed him.”

“Why, my lady?” she asked, baffled. “You’ll need to iron it next time you wear it. Folding it could make runs in the fabric or make lines fade over it…”

“Then I should fear for Oriental artisans if their products are so fragile,” she murmured gently, but with finality. Merlin approached behind her and untied the bustle from her waist. The Duchess appeared more petite than ever, her pale, willowy frame only broken by the golden tinge of sunlight she had collected from their travels and the softness of her hips and thighs. The light of the window passed through her petticoats, making her glow. Merlin liked her this way: free and light. Herself.

He quickly transferred everything to her room and returned to help her into her new gown. Agatha watched on from the open kitchen area with a dubious eye. Merlin was holding the sleeves out for her to shrug into when Ygraine asked, “Why did you choose this one?”

His eyes widened as if he was caught in a hunter’s sights. “My lady? Do want a different—”

“This one’s fine,” she assured, adjusting the fine cotton over her shoulders. “I just wonder how your mind works. I like hearing your explanations for things.”

His gaze dropped shyly as he circled around to do up the buttons. “Cotton breathes more than other fabrics. You’ve been wearing silks and satin all day. It’s warm outside, so I thought you might want the quarter sleeves… The maids always gossip about pallor being the fashion, but the sun looks nice in your cheeks. People should look like people, not like paintings.”

She smiled contently with a breathy laugh in her chest. “I can feel your scowl, Agatha. What say you?”

“I say ignorant boys shouldn’t have a say in women’s fashion. He forgot the bustle, mum.”

Merlin’s blood pressure dropped as he realized she was right, but Ygraine quickly rotated to grasp his hand, giving it a squeeze. “Then I’ll be the talk of all the social circles. How dare I give men the impression that my derriere is a proper size? A fashion faux pas or the beginning of a new trend…let them decide.”

She winked at Merlin, who smiled as she continued, “Besides, I’m convinced it was a man who invented the damn corset. It’s bad enough that idiot Caplan woman made an exhibition with her designs. People will never learn if we encourage such behavior.”

Agatha had ceased her making of tea sandwiches and avoided the Duchess’s gaze like she might be burned. “Please don’t speak this way outside, my lady. We may have a queen, but that doesn’t make this sort of talk right.”

“I think it’s right,” Merlin whispered for Ygraine’s ears alone. She laughed merrily, catching the landlady off guard while Merlin finished up her buttons.

“Would you mind washing my hair before we go out, Merlin? And Agatha, put the kettle on, if you would.”

Merlin went to get the washbasin and her toiletry bag while the water boiled. Agatha poured it in a pot and set it with the tray of sandwiches on the living room table. “Thank you, Agatha. I don’t want to keep you from your other residents.”

She took the hint and gave Merlin a lingering, suspicious look and went out the door. Merlin used what was left in the kettle to warm the water in the basin before he set a pillow on the floor for her to sit and draped a towel across her shoulders before guiding her hair over the table and basin. Cupping his hands, he lifting water over her scalp and stuck cotton balls in her ears in case of stray drops. She giggled at the tickle but settled with her knees close to her chest and a sandwich in hand. “Could you use magic to clean hair?” she asked out of nowhere.

“Yes, but I haven’t tried,” he said, lathering a bar of lavender soap against her hair. He paused, “Did you want me to…?”

“No, I like this,” she said offhandedly. Her eyes were closed while she munched on her sandwich and handed the other half to him.

Merlin stared at the cucumber and turkey slices inside it before asking, “My lady?”

Her eyes opened and she explained, “Your hands are busy, but you must be hungry. You hardly ate this morning.”

“You needed the food more than me,” he returned. “You have a dinner party tonight and need your energy.”

She huffed a laugh. “During which food will be served. Just take it, Merlin. I told you: when you’re alone with me we are friends, not Duchess and servant. It’s only a sandwich.”

He tentatively leaned forward and took the half in his mouth. It was delicious, it’s ingredients fresh and well made, but the taboo of eating from his duchess’s hand sent feelings to Merlin’s heart which made him wonder if he was developing a heart condition.

He finished washing her hair while she ate and passed him the halves. Wringing out her blond mane and wrapping it in a towel, he went to dump the basin in the sink before pouring her a cup of tea and drying her hair. She milked and sugared it herself as he unstopped a bottle of lilac-scented oil to brush through her hair. He returned to kneading her tresses with the towel, working the oil in to soften and perfume while the excess absorbed into the fabric. With her hair done up and the pot and sandwich plate empty, they set off once more to the stables. Their horses had since been watered, fed, and groomed; Aithusa was eager to stay out of a stall while Merlin’s horse mirrored her enthusiasm. 

The nearest park to them was St. James’s, and the tawny gravel crunched beneath their horses’ hooves as they passed through beds of tulips and along the ponds teaming with lily pads and overgrown willow trees. Ygraine earned some looks but she teased Merlin that it was because of the horse she rode. “The only people who know I’m in town are my brothers for the dinner tonight, and Agatha. I won’t be in the papers until I’m already packing to leave.”

“Papers? The newspapers tell when people come into town?” Merlin exclaimed.

“Members of high society, yes,” she confirmed. “A way for the pompous to keep track of one another and a gossiping outlet for those outside of the circles.”

Merlin was not sure how to feel about that but all too soon they were climbing the stairs again to ready for the dinner party. Ygraine switched back to her blue and gold dress—sans corset—and caught Merlin off guard by saying, “I snuck something into here when you weren’t looking.”

From the bottom of his rucksack she withdrew a parcel wrapped in soft leather to protect it against moisture. Merlin untied the twine and unfurled a new, black dinner jacket along with a navy blue scarf with tiny tassels along one edge. He stared up at her. “Am I…coming?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Not as a guest, surely?”

She gave him a pointed look after adjusting the metal flower pins in her hair and strode over to him. Unwinding the white scarf from his neck, she plucked the first clean shirt she found out of his sack and gave the one he wore a good yank. He obediently pulled it over his head and worked on the fresh garment: a white button up. Draping the jacket around him, she held it aloft for him to stick his arms through, and then shook out the blue scarf to wind expertly around his neck so it rested comfortably under his chin and the tassels hung diagonally across a lapel.

“A duchess can be as spoiled as she wants. You’re coming, even if I have to hand you my glass for holding so people’s useless stares cease. It will also be helpful for you to learn Arthur’s uncles now. My little brother, Tristan, is rising quickly in the Queen’s navy, and Agravaine is a member of the House of Lords alongside my husband. Arthur will likely have several run-ins with them as he establishes himself in society.”

“It sounds as if you don’t trust your brothers,” he contemplated while hastily cleaning his boots so they were at least free of mud and grit.

“I know them,” she replied bluntly. “Both are ambitious. Agravaine is more so, but Tristan can be a bit reckless in his lust for adventure. He and Arthur are kindred spirits. The bastard needs a wife to sort him out--obviously the admirals aren’t doing it.”

Merlin blurted a graceless laugh and handed over her lace gloves and purse before making sure he had the keys to their flat and locked the door behind him. They paid the cabbie at the door of a tall house in the center of a city square. It looked rather like the apartment building they were staying in, but whereas that had multiple homes, this was entirely one. The black door opened and Merlin’s breath hitched in his throat.

“You already know what to do, love. No stress,” the Duchess whispered and then faced the footman.

The long tails of the man’s jacket brushed the backs of his thighs when he bowed. “My Lady Ygraine. Good evening, you’re expected. May I take your shawl and tote?”

“No thank you, Ivan. Merlin will take care of them.”

The puzzled, grey irises found Merlin as if he hadn’t yet noticed he existed. Nonetheless, he nodded, “Very good, mum.”

Stepping inside, she paused to let Merlin take the shawl from her shoulders. He briefly noticed it matched his scarf as he folded it neatly to hang over his forearm along with her purse. The foyer was narrow and furnished with dark wood and a swarthy carpet of reds, greens, and browns below a high chandelier. It was plain in comparison to the dining room, which was garnished in gold paint around the frescoed walls and parquet floor. Three chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling in a neat line, while below them some guests were already seated with wine and others mulled about for conversation.

“Ygraine!” came a voice, and she rushed forward to be caught in a sandy blonde’s embrace. By his uniform jacket, Merlin guessed this was Tristan. After a long, tight hug he kissed both her cheeks and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. “How are you, sweet heart?”

“I’m well, and you? Your uniform hangs off you. Aren’t they feeding you on the high seas?” she teased.

“Ha ha,” he mused, slapping his abdomen. “I’ve just returned from Morocco, where they drink a strange tea with an even stranger crumbly dish with dates fresh off the trees. Delicious, though.--you’d love it. Are you here alone?”

“Not at all,” she beamed, silently summoning Merlin over. “Tristan, this is my steward, Merlin.”

“Merlin,” he grinned, extending a hand. Merlin stared at it dumbly for a second and then accepted it. The shake was strong and rigorous. “We’ve got a few ex-stewards aboard our craft. They work a hell of a lot harder than the second sons of lords, I’ll tell you that much. I bet my sister works you as hard as they do us.”

Merlin’s lips lifted to smile when another, deeper voice drew their attention. “Sister.”

Where Tristan was dirty blond, lanky, shaggy around the edges and boisterous, Agravaine was black haired, strong, and held a certain gravity in his silence. He came forward and likewise kissed her cheek, his eyes immediately alighting onto Merlin. “Did you say this is your steward? Shrewd, Ygraine.”

“Don’t chastise me, _Agravaine,”_ she returned hotly. “I am allowed to bring anyone I like.”

“People will talk,” he countered softly, not necessarily out of a fear of being heard but because his voice had a velvet quality to it.

“Let them!” Tristan sniffed. “Any man willing to hold a woman’s purse all night deserves respect. Merlin, have you eaten yet?”

Oh no. What was the proper way to address a man of military station? No one had ever taught him this and suddenly he felt extremely out of place. He could feel Agravaine’s eyes expectantly on him, but Ygraine came to his aid. “No, he hasn’t. Sneak him something from the kitchens, please?”

Tristan winked in a way that was uncannily like his sister and nodded toward a door for Merlin to follow. “I’ve been pinching tarts all evening,” he admitted. “The soup smells heavenly but I can hardly manage to sneak a bowl out without being seen. What’s your fancy? Meat pies? Brussels sprouts? Tarts?”

“Er,” Merlin hesitated. “Whatever you’re willing to take, I guess…”

Tristan smirked and disappeared down a corridor where the hubbub of the kitchen could be heard. Merlin peeked over his shoulder to see if he was alone, and when his head returned around Tristan was already rushing back toward him. “Sorry for the crude handling,” he said with a handful of roasted brussels sprouts and a small pile of meat pies and tarts. “Will this be enough?”

Merlin gaped dumbly. “Uh—Y-Yeah…how did you…?”

Tristan shrugged it off. “Most of our time is spent dealing with smugglers, and a lot of days pass on the high seas going to and fro for the Queen’s justice. Sometimes you get to chatting and you pick up some tricks.”

The intoxicating smell of spiced meat and earthy vegetables filled his lungs; he could taste the sweetness of the tarts in the air. Merlin took the spherical sprouts first, quickly relieving Tristan of them. “Aren’t your hands burnt?”

“This is nothing,” he assured and cupped Merlin’s hand to emphasize his calluses. “Burning pitch and powder are the real concern.”

Merlin wolfed down three of the sprouts before he felt their heat in his throat. The last two went down a bit slower, and then came the pie. He had to catch the thick beef broth with his hand but the chunks of steak, carrot, parsnip, and garlic were music to his palette. He finished the second pie before he bothered licking broth and flaky dough from his palm and fingers. A flash of white caught his attention to Tristan offering him his handkerchief.

“I’ve only seen dying men eat like you,” he mused. “You haven’t got one of those funny mannerisms do you? Where you retch after you eat?”

Merlin frowned over his blackberry tart. “Do people really do that?”

Tristan guffawed. “Travel some when you can. People are funny. Go slow with those tarts. It’s sacrilege to not savor them properly.”

Merlin did as he was told, his eyes lulling gratefully with each bite. “May I ask you something?” he said between tarts.

“Ask away,” Tristan ushered.

“How should I address you?”

“By my naval title is fine,” he informed. “I’m an acting lieutenant, soon to be instated as captain if the one with the job keeps making shit of it. Call me Lieutenant—oh, I hear music. Best get back in there.”

They stuffed the last of their tarts and chewed quickly before slipping into the party. Merlin found Ygraine and silently stood near her by the wall. He kept her in his peripheral vision while his eyes roamed to the other members of the gathering. There were gowns with tiered fronts to their skirts and towering bustles that made him wonder if their lower spines hurt. Some of the men wore flamboyant cravats, silks of citrus orange and paisley greens. Merlin himself garnered a few glances, but only once. After they recognized him as a servant, he was as inconspicuous as the wall.

When Ygraine sat at the table, Merlin discretely strolled around the room to stand behind her at a diagonal. Her eyes flicked to the side, acknowledging him in her peripheral vision. The servants who flooded the room bearing trays and platters of the multi-course meal gave him more attention than the guests, but he liked not having to hold a pitcher or cart a tray of lamb around the table; Ygraine’s shawl and purse were weightless in comparison.

“Has anybody else seen the scandal in the pamphlets recently?” someone chimed, catching Merlin from his reverie.

“About the brothel and the earl?” someone seconded. “People will be talking about that for years.”

“The earl wasn’t the only one found out, although he is the only one suing for libel,” provided another. “But they are saying the _prince_ was one of them, one of the… _clients.”_

“Who’s saying that?” someone asked the same time another sputtered, “Of _Wales?_ You mean our second in line?”

“No, idiot, his son.”

“Then don’t call him a prince if he hasn’t inherited the title yet—”

“They’re all poufs if you ask me,” said a man with an absurdly large mustache. “Rutting into one another…entering one of their brothels must be like entering parliament.”

A couple women gave whoops of laughter but a stern man with a skinny, hooked nose chided, “There are ladies present, Lord Rambly, and this is a dinner. Keep your nasty opinions to yourself.”

“Not so much opinions as observations,” this Lord Rambly countered. “And how is a male brothel different from a female one? What men do in their spare time with their spare change is their own bloody business. As long as my taxes do not pay for it I couldn’t give a damn.”

Merlin frowned. _A male brothel?_ He’d often heard the stable hands boast of visiting the brothel in the city, and Merlin had already overheard more than he ever cared to hear about the female anatomy, but for some reason it never occurred to him that men would be doing _that_ with other men.

His thoughts were interrupted by a series of gasps. “Lord Rambly! That’s unlawful!”

“A man with another man! Not only is it against the law—it is against God and nature!”

“Now that’s pushing it, don’t you think? My dogs fuck like it’s the coin to their next meal and they don’t care whether its cock and balls below or not. Even the bitches canoodle in the wee hours.”

“Rambly! This is dinner!”

 _Does this even matter?_ Merlin sighed. He was beginning to side with the Rambly man and his puffy white mustache. What people did behind closed doors was their business, although he would have liked for the stable workers to not go into detail regarding the musky scents betwixt a woman’s legs…or the taste.

He let his attention drift until dinner ended and the men disappeared to the smoking room while the women went to the parlor for cards and sweets. He looked to Ygraine for an order--were male servants allowed to go with the female guests? Or should he wait in the foyer?

“My shawl please, Merlin,” she approached him. “Go on and call a cabbie, if you would. I’ll say my goodbyes quickly.”

There was some complaint from the other ladies but Merlin was quite relieved to be leaving. He trotted down the stairs to the main street, but at this time of night the only creatures out were stray cats and foxes looking for scraps. Ygraine was conversing with Agravaine in the foyer when he returned inside. The man’s dark eyes slid over to him and he said by way of greeting. “Training to be Arthur’s steward?”

Merlin glanced at Ygraine and answered automatically, “Yes, my lord.”

Agravaine’s chin lifted as he considered that. “Train hard, then. Don’t let him become his younger uncle.”

“Agravaine,” she scolded darkly. “There is nothing wrong with a military profession.”

“Just as there isn’t anything wrong with being cabin boy to the captain,” her brother replied snidely.

She slapped him right across his face. Merlin stood in stunned silence. Should he leave? Should he take the Duchess and go? What was the protocol for this?

“He is our brother and he would walk through fire for either of us,” she purred lethally.

“More like set the fire. Every family has an embarrassment, and he is ours. Admit it, if father hadn’t kept him from attending that exhibition, you wouldn’t be the Duchess of Pendragon right now.”

“He is not so reckless as that,” she refuted. “Tristan is a good man.”

“We will never know, will we,” her brother said, but it was not a question. With a final “Good evening,” he turned and made his way to the smoking room.

Ygraine turned angrily in Merlin’s direction and he hesitantly informed, “Erm, I couldn’t find a cab…”

“I could use the walk,” she retorted as she tightened her shawl and opened the door herself. He followed closely behind her and was glad for the dinner jacket in the night’s chill. It was a strange sight, seeing Ygraine furious, and it made Merlin realize he had never seen her angry. Even at Arthur or Uther’s worst she was patient, witty, and cunning; Merlin had no experience in calming her down.

“What should I be doing, my lady?” he ventured.

She exhaled haughtily. “There isn’t anything to be doing right now.”

Merlin swallowed nervously. He was so accustomed to Gaius sending him for herbs, for Arthur asking for his attention, for the maids asking help with the laundry, the stable hands handing him the reins to the rowdy horse Uther wanted trained for Arthur, the dragon summoning in his dreams…he had never been told to do nothing—

He heard a _snip_ sound the same moment he felt a slight tug on his wrist, causing Merlin to whirl around and connect with a purse snatcher’s fist. The severed satin handle slipped from his arm as he doubled over, cursing his luck. He’d just learned how to heal bruises and now he had another in the exact same place.

He was not prepared for the wooden bat colliding with his backside, sending him sprawled over the pavement with his lungs retching in sporadic coughs. Ygraine yelped, tearing his attention away from the sweet, metallic taste in his mouth. The two men held her arms and were pulling her into a darkened alleyway. Despite the pain, Merlin leapt to his feet and ran after them.

“High born lady like you shouldna be out so late,” one of them growled against her struggles.

“Betcha this’s that eastern stuff. Chinese silk. Pretty penny that will bring,” cooed the other over her shoulder, like he was debating on sniffing or even tasting her.

Merlin caught him first around the neck, yanking him backward, but he only succeeded in dragging him down with his weight. “Ye bony whelp,” the man groaned the same moment he shook Merlin off. A kick to his knees put Merlin on the gritty, wet ground that smelled of rotting eggs and cabbage.

“Jus’ a servant,” his companion said, continuing to hold Ygraine captive. “Lazy fucks as worthless as their masters.”

The man standing over Merlin gave him a kick, aggravating his ribs further. “You jus’ as soft as her, then? You like playing with ladies’ clothes instead of workin’ like a man?”

“Leave ‘im. We need t’get the lady out o’this gown. Keep her purse close. S’bad enough you cut the string.”

“I was tryin’ ta be stealth-like,” the man said, leaving Merlin where he was, struggling to breathe.

“S-Stop…” he wheezed, but they paid him no mind.

“She _is_ soft. What do ye say—”

“We don’ got time for that. Do yer fuckin’ job and don’ tear the button strings.”

“It’d be quick,” the companion complained. “Me britches are ready t’camp under already.”

“Don’ remind me,” the other replied. “Been long since I smelled one this good—owph!”

Ygraine kicked his shin with her heel and elbowed his spleen. Her shawl ripped as she lunged away from them, but they grabbed her and they collapsed in a huddle. “Changed me mind,” the one growled through his pain. There was the flapping of fabric as her skirts were roughly thrown upward. Merlin craned his neck to peer through bleary eyes as her nether things were exposed to the night, her top half entirely covered by her inside-out skirts.

“Stop,” he rasped again. When greasy fingers reached for her lowest layer and dirty fingernails curled under the hem of her underwear Merlin forwent breathing and crashed into him. “Stop! Stop! Stop! What are you doing? Stop!”

His last word was choked off when one of those hands clenched his throat. “You’ll find out soon ‘nough, boy. Watch a man at work if ye want, or piss off.”

“Ye have to admit he’s got balls,” the other commented giddily. “Wha’ d’ye expect to fight us with? You haven’t got a pistol—ye haven’ even got a knife!”

Ygraine’s whimper was muffled under her layers as she struggled against the man holding her down. She managed to free an arm and jerk a section off her face--her eyes glazed over by tears and fear as she shivered. Her hair had come loose and stuck to her tears and sweat.

And Merlin snapped.

 _“I don’t need one,”_ he whispered, but it roared in the night. His eyes tickled with the moist sensation of his magic awakening in his eyes, surging forth to such a degree that the man was thrown against the opposite wall of the alley, his body creating an indentation in the brick. Now he was the one struggling for breath, his eyes bulging in panic while Merlin’s hands rested by his sides. Perhaps he tried to speak, but Merlin would never know. His saliva gargled in his throat as his sweat glistened in what little light filtered into the alleyway.

“F-F-Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Yer-Yer one o’them! One o’them fuckin’ things! M-Magic! You freak!”

Merlin removed the spark of life from the man on the wall like an afterthought as he stalked forward to the man scrambling to get back to the street. Merlin raised a hand, and the man halted on his feet, shivering as if he was caught in a blizzard. His eyes darted around like a caged animal as his body turned against his will to face Merlin standing before him.

Merlin had nothing to say, so he watched the quaking figure tear inside out as the spark of magic left him.

“My lady?” he whispered in what he hoped was a soothing tone as he knelt beside her. Gesturing with his hand, her skirts flipped to their rightful place over her legs and she was able to look up at him properly. But her gaze caught on the bloody mass in front of her before it reached Merlin, and he feared her flinch was a prelude to her running from him.

Her shaky exhalations turned toward the other dead man and her eyes widened, as if the first corpse was myth and the second was fact. Finally her tear-stained cheeks lifted to him. “Merlin?” she sobbed.

He knew his eyes were glowing a fierce gold, but he reached for her torn shawl and slowly offered an open palm in an effort to not frighten her. “May I take you home, my lady?”

Her inhales hiccuped in her throat and her hand tentatively overlapped his, but the moment their skin touched, she lunged against him, hugging around his middle and crying desperately. “Merlin!”

His face buried in her hair, clutching her as tightly as she did him. Together they wept in each other’s arms, Merlin’s mind too much of a mess to verbally comfort her as shock and pain wracked through him. He felt his ribs stitch together, his magic overtaking his needs and scalding his insides with healing.

 _I’ve got you. I’ve got you,_ he thought brokenly. _They’re gone. I’ve got you. They won’t hurt you again. I’ll do anything. I’ll keep you safe. I love you. I love you. I love you. Don’t send me away. I’ll do anything. I’ll keep you safe._

With one arm around her shoulders, he slipped his other hand under her knees, ignoring the scrape of cobblestones on the backs of his fingers. Magic healed them as easily as the rest of him.

“Merlin! Your ribs!” she warned, grasping his shoulders weakly.

“They don’t hurt anymore,” he murmured and lifted her off the alley floor. It was strange, holding her in his arms when he was used to Arthur’s smaller frame. Merlin could have sworn he felt a dull ache sprout between his vertebrae, his magic spurring him into a growth spurt to better manage her weight. The discomfort throbbed across his shoulder blades and shot down to his knees as he exited the alleyway and kept to the shadows, his golden eyes lifting only to scan the street for threats.

The lock to their flat building twisted without need for a key before he stepped over the threshold and carried the Duchess all the way up the stairs. By this time Ygraine had slumped against him, letting Merlin support her frame while her head nestled between his collarbone and neck. Their flat door opened similarly, but Merlin paused in the doorway, sensing a presence on the stairs.

 _“Back to bed, Agatha,”_ he cast, seeing through the stairs to the landlady below, having woken up at the sound of locks turning. He waited for her eyelids to grow heavy and her feet to drag her back to slumber.

Merlin set Ygraine on the large round ottoman and worked her buttons apart manually. Coming round, she silently stood and let him work her gown, petticoats, and everything unnecessary for sleep off. She stared forward as if in a daze while Merlin found a thick blanket and covered her shoulders with it, wrapping the corners around her waist so her arms were free. Gently holding up one elbow after another, Merlin healed the bruises caused by brutish hands and then moistened a cloth to clean her face and hands.

“Did you mean it?” she asked abruptly.

Merlin’s head yanked up. “Mean what?”

“That you’ll do anything…for me?” she reiterated. “Do it again. Speak inside my head.”

Merlin’s eyes widened a second before his head bowed in shame. “My lady, I’m sorry. I never meant to intrude—I didn’t know I could—”

“Hush,” she ushered, a palm covering his mouth. “Did you mean it?”

Tears raced free of his bright eyes as he nodded against her hand.

“Tell me so,” she pleaded. “Like you did before, in my mind.”

Her hand moved to cradle the side of his face but he shook his head. _I don’t know how._ The words were on his lips, but she stunned him by smiling.

“Liar.”

His dewy lashes rose. _You heard that?_

 _Yes,_ she returned, and then her smile faltered. _Can you hear me?_

 _Yes!_ he breathed. _How…?_

 _It’s you,_ she deduced. _You, you incredible boy._

His breath hitched and his wince slowly deepened to a grimace. _Ygraine…I killed them…_

 _You saved me,_ she reiterated. _Thank you. Thank you. Thank you._

He swallowed audibly, but she kept his head from bowing by catching it against her shoulder, enveloping him in a hug. His arms closed loosely around her the same moment she giggled. _Your skin is hot to the touch. We hardly need to light the fireplace with you around._

 _Why are you so kind to me, my lady?_ he blurted.

_Because a long time ago I had a feeling about you, and you’ve proven me right. Sometimes our purpose is to add to others’ lives, and you’ve added to mine, but I never dreamed you would put me first._

_I’m your steward, my lad—_

“Merlin,” she halted aloud, silencing his thoughts. She leaned back far enough to see him. “Anyone else would have run from that alleyway, servant or baron, steward or lord, but you stayed. You stayed…”

Inwardly she finished, _It’s not about rank. We’re all human when faced with fear, but you fought it, you wonderful boy. With your power you could go anywhere, be anyone, but here you are. I am kind because it is the least I can do for you, because I am selfish and want to keep you for myself._

His features opened. _Really?_

She smiled again. _This silent communication will come into great use. You’re too handy to lose. Let’s go to the Crystal Palace tomorrow, yeah? Then the sea._

Merlin could not tell if he was crying or laughing, but he nodded eagerly. “As you wish, my lady.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PRINCESS BRIDE REFERENCE BECAUSE WHY NOT. And Caplan was an actual person who was a big deal for her corset designs. If you're into history you'll see a lot of actual events in this story but nowhere near their real timeline haha yay for creative liberties.


	4. Captain's Cabin

Merlin distractedly gazed out of the windows while holding open the towel for Ygraine to step into. He distantly heard the drip of water as she stepped out of the tub Agatha had brought up for them, and his arms draped the fabric around her shoulders without thinking about it when she stepped into them. He pulled himself from his reverie and procured a smaller towel to dry her neck and the rebellious tresses that had fallen free from her messy knot.

“You really are growing,” she observed. Merlin stared blankly before he processed how she was right: he now stood even with her, and just a little bit higher when his spine straightened. Ygraine was only half a head taller than Hunith, but the growth spurt was apparent.

“Your jaw looks fuller,” she added, gently grasping his chin and turning it from side to side. Her eyes narrowed theatrically. “Good god, Merlin, are you becoming a man?”

His jaw dropped when she retracted her hand, as if she’d been holding it closed. “Um…”

“I’m only teasing,” she chuckled, “but you do look significantly older now. I’ll have to have another dinner jacket made for you.”

“Do you intend on many dinner parties?” he asked, with a hint of his own sass.

“Many,” she challenged. “I might even commission a proper suit for you and dare the world to say I can’t bring my steward along with me. Hm,” she paused with contemplation. “A woman with a man attending parties together…quite a scandal.”

He blanched. “Please don’t incur the wrath of your husband on me.” Merlin may have grown but the Duke was still a substantial man…not to mention a _duke._

Ygraine guffawed and threw the smaller towel back at him. “I won’t, I promise. Dare I say it, I love the oaf and he knows it. What shall I wear today?”

Merlin held up her cloudy blue gown with a tiered front of white, wispy silk. She nodded once. “That will do. I’ll need the bustle this time; rumors of the Queen attending the galleries float around. In the odd chance we meet her, Uther would faint if I embarrassed him by not looking the part of Duchess.”

“I can’t imagine the Duke fainting,” Merlin uttered quizzically.

“Exactly,” she agreed. “Best not risk it.”

After helping her into the dress Merlin did her hair and found her long chain of pearls to hang around her neck. Agatha returned around this time to collect the tub and eyed Merlin with scrutiny. She stared long and hard at him, unable to place what was different about him, but all she found was a young man with his cheeks stuffed with croissant and jam.

On their way toward the door, Ygraine stopped and ran a hand through Merlin’s hair. “Hmm…this grew with the rest of you. I’ll cut it for you afterward but let’s run a brush through it now.”

Merlin found her brush and stared at himself in the mirror. The stranger gazing back at him had the same blue eyes shadowed by a mess of cowlicks that were now long enough to lie partway down his nape. He still had his mother’s prominent, elegant bone structure, but no longer her roundish face; his adolescent softness was fading.

Instead of lifting the brush, Merlin combed his fingers through his hair, depositing tufts of black hair on the makeup table. He glanced up into his yellow eyes as he fixed his fringe into a manageable length, and then turned his head from side to side to survey his makeshift haircut. Ygraine approached behind him with a feather duster to swat the pieces of hair from his back and shoulders. “You could have waited and not run the risk of looking like the losing side of a cat fight.”

He chortled, “Sorry,” and swept the hair from the table for disposal. When he peeked in the mirror on their way out, he looked a bit more like himself.

Their carriage halted with a sway before the door opened of it's own accord. “Good morning, mum!” greeted a man who helped the Duchess from the cabbie. “Welcome to the Crystal Palace! You’ve arrived in perfect time for our Egyptian exhibition, along with many other marvels from the south and east! Would you like to take tea in our sun gallery while you’re with us? I can have a pot steeping for when you’re ready.”

Ygraine smiled pleasantly. “No thank you, but I imagine every room in this place is a sun gallery.”

The man exaggerated a chuckle as he held open one of the glass doors ribbed with iron. “Just so, mum. Enjoy!”

They passed through the door, but not before Ygraine cast a glance over her shoulder at the pamphlet sticking out of his back pocket. “I’m already in the papers, then,” she mused.

“What do you mean?” Merlin said distractedly, already gazing around the massive conservatory that was filled with exotic plants, paintings, sculptures, and artifacts he could not name. A plant beside him had emerald leaves as large as his thighs and orange flowers reminding him of trumpets.

She giggled when she noticed his fascination. “It only means we ought to switch to a quieter way of speaking.”

She led their stroll through the first gallery: a maze of paintings depicting ancient queens and scenes from legend. Merlin’s skull faced upward, however, listening to the songs of the birds standing on bars above. One had a plumage twice as long as its body, each feather a different color. Another had a wonky beak that caused him to wonder how it ate.

“Merlin,” Ygraine called from the next gallery. He rushed forward and caught up with her in time to hear someone exclaim, “Ygraine? Duchess, is that you?”

“And here it begins,” she sighed for his ears alone before a skinny red-haired woman approached. Her copper hair had a bushy quality to it and her freckles splashed all the way from her face down to her hands, which grasped Ygraine’s eagerly. Merlin could not decide if the woman's laugh was exuberant or forced.

“It’s been so long since you were last in the capital! But I’m so sorry, you might not remember me; we only met the once at—”

“I remember you, Lady Trelaine. How is your daughter, Vivian?”

The woman’s murky green eyes lit up. “She’s well, thank you! Growing as prettily as a lily! She so misses your son, though. They met at one of his birthday feasts. They were only children, but she was rather smitten by him!”

“They’re still children,” Ygraine countered bluntly with a contrasting smile on her face, “but how doting of her to remember him after all these years.”

Merlin stifled the snort in his throat. As far as Arthur was concerned, Morgana and Gwen were the first girls in his life. There was no chance he remembered whoever this Vivian was.

Then he noticed Lady Trelaine’s eyes flicking toward him once…twice… “Are we in your way?” she wondered pointedly. “There are other pathways, you know.”

Merlin blinked and then proffered a slight bow. “My name is Merlin, my lady. I am the Duchess’s manservant.”

Lady Trelaine’s features opened wide as if his words had physically winded her. “ _Man_ servant?”

“My steward,” Ygraine elaborated, “until he is trained well enough to stand by my son. My husband, the Duke, would hardly let me leave the house without a proper escort.”

This seemed to settle the frazzled nerves of Trelaine but she could not help but comment, “Oh, well quite right…but a _man_ servant? What’s become of your maids, dearest Ygraine?”

Merlin was close enough to feel the Duchess’s spine stand rigid. “My maids attend to my son while I am away. It takes three of them for Arthur, I would not dare transfer that responsibility onto Merlin before he is ready.”

The Lady Trelaine’s gaze roamed over him once more. “He looks quite old enough.”

“I am fourteen, mum,” he kept his chin tucked so his gaze was downward.

There was silence, and then Trelaine’s obnoxious laughter reached for the vaulted glass ceiling. Merlin peeked at Ygraine, who met his glance with a discrete scratch to her temple. His eyes lightened slightly as he quickly looked down. He was not sure how he did it last night…he focused on her, reaching out to her but not with his arms…mentally finding the warmth of her mind.

_This seems like a good note to end on, I think. Get us away from this horrid woman._

He pressed his lips together to contain his smirk and carefully leaned forward to whisper as if in confidence, but just loud enough for Trelaine to hear, “My lady, we are expected in the sun gallery.”

He leaned back on his heals and let Ygraine take it from there. “You’re right. Lady Trelaine, I’m sorry to cut this short, but my attention is needed elsewhere. Do send my regards to your husband and daughter for me.”

She kissed the air beside Trelaine’s cheek and lithely strode onward with Merlin close behind. “Perhaps I should have accepted that pot of tea after all,” she mused under her breath.

He chuckled, sauntering with his hands clasped behind his back. “Was she courting Arthur through you?”

Ygraine groaned. “Her husband is in parliament, and unfortunately gets on well with Uther. It falls on me to keep her painted claws away from my son. You don’t remember Vivian, do you? Blond girl, she takes after her father aesthetically, but her mother in personality. It makes for a treacherous combination.”

Merlin glanced behind them and caught the woman in question faking interest in a grapevine in order to spy on them. “She’s trying to see who you’re meeting for tea.”

“Of course she is. Could you do something to divert her interests?”

“I’ll try,” he said, and peeked over his shoulder again. His eyes fell to her blush-colored dress and flashed gold the same second a tear ripped up the hem of her skirt. “Done,” he murmured as they heard a distinct shriek.

They spent the rest of the morning passing through the galleries and listened to historians provide information on the specific pieces and cultures. They walked along the pond and garden trails behind the glass structure and occasionally ran into more acquaintances, some tolerable while others rivaled Lady Trelaine. By the time they returned to their flat, Agatha had a pot of pasta boiling on their stove. She and Ygraine discussed the Palace while Merlin took the basin into one of the private rooms for a bath.

“Tonight? My lady, that is hardly sensible,” Agatha was saying when he reemerged.

“It takes longer to get here than it does to reach the coast from here,” Ygraine countered mildly. Seeing Merlin, she silently handed over her riding boots and sat for him to lace them up for her. “And our horses are more than capable of getting us there by dinner.”

“My lady, there are more bandits south than north,” Agatha reasoned. “The coast attracts them from land and sea alike.”

“Agatha, your xenophobia is no way to live. I’ll grant you, the southern lands are a blend of curious nationalities, but different is not wrong. Besides, I will be safe.”

She looked down as if to see the progress of her boots, but her eyes locked with Merlin’s. His chin dropped subtly in a nod.

Ygraine peered across the room, “Could I trouble you to send our bags down to the horses? What is the best way to transport pasta?”

“You don’t travel with pasta!” Agatha harrumphed. “The Italians are not so brilliant!” she added on her way out.

Merlin frowned. “I read that noodles were created in China.”

Ygraine giggled to herself. “One of those jars from the cabinets should suffice as long as the lid is screwed tight.”

Merlin carried his rucksack with the jars of pasta down to the stables and situated their items while Ygraine settled their rent with Agatha. He had already put a jar in his saddlebags and was cushioning the other in Ygraine’s while Aithusa nibbled affectionately at his hip. His hands paused before his mind processed what he was feeling--the ineffable sensation of eyes on his nape. He peeked to his left, where a couple of the stable hands, only his seniors by a year or two, were watching the white horse as if they were hungry and wanted horse stew. Merlin stared long enough for them to peek up and look away. He gave Aithusa’s nose a few pets before his hands returned to their task, only to have his gaze drawn to his right. A small cluster of older stable workers was riveted to something on the other end of the stable. Merlin followed their fascinated gaze to where Ygraine stood with Agatha.

He glanced between the Duchess and the men, Ygraine and back, and processed how they wore the same ravenous expressions as the men he’d killed last night. For a moment, Merlin astounded himself by agreeing with Uther's mentality, _No wonder he keeps her far away in a castle._ Then his gaze locked on the donkey behind them.

HNNNEEYAAAW! it roared, and reared forward for its hind legs to arch up. A powerful kick took out at least three of the ogling workers, and the others dazedly rushed to calm the creature down.

“Ready?” Ygraine asked when she finished her dealings. She sent a curious glance at the commotion.

“Yes, my lady,” he answered, setting a stool below her stirrup while she pulled on her riding gloves.

Once they were outside the city she called for another race. Merlin was more prepared this time and narrowly lost, but they kept a brisk pace all the way to the sea. Merlin smelled it long before he saw it, and he heard the squawk of seagulls above his head. The air was more humid and salty, yet oddly fresh. The landscape of forests changed to choppy, rolling hills of clover and violet wildflowers speckled with cottages and fluffy sheep.

But then the horizon line ended…or rather, it began. Across a long expanse of green, the terrain was suddenly a seamless line dividing sky and water. Aithusa’s tail swished back and forth when they trotted to a halt near the edge of a wide stretch of cliffs. The chalky white cliff faces were capped by a green blanket of grass, but below was a sliver of tawny beach and then endless murky teal water frothing lightly as it kissed the shore. The evening sun was hot on Merlin’s face, easing the bite of the cool wind.

“This is…?

“The sea,” she smiled. “The ocean is larger.”

He turned incomprehensible eyes on her. “Larger?”

She nodded. “A sea is tiny in comparison.”

He was having difficulty believing there was a body of water greater than the one before his eyes. Merlin was suddenly, keenly aware of how different the world was outside of his books.

His eyes roamed to the shoreline beneath them, and he followed the wall of cliffs to where they tapered down to meet the beach. “Can we…?”

Her eyes were closed, simply breathing and feeling the sun on her face. “You don’t have to ask me, Merlin.”

He steered his horse around Aithusa, but she sensed his haste and was beside him in an instant. He could hear Ygraine’s laughter being snatched by the wind, and he loosened the reins so his horse could stretch his neck to navigate the way down to the beach. Above them the white walls towered, but the coarse, tawny sand provided a long path for them to walk. Merlin dismounted and held out his hands to help the Duchess. No sooner did her feet hit the sand, then he haphazardly balanced on one foot, quickly unlaced his boots, and crammed his socks in them before wincing over the rocks and sand to the water.

“Ahem,” Ygraine cleared her throat, causing Merlin to glance back. She could not bend over to undo her own shoes, but he made quick work of them with a flash of his eyes. She was able to toe them off as he splashed into the receding water.

“Ahh!” he exclaimed, which quickly morphed into a giddy laugh. “It’s freezing!”

Ygraine extended a pale foot with her skirts lifted and her jaw dropped. “Oh bollocks, for some reason I remember it being warmer than this!”

Merlin guffawed and stomped his feet before taking off across the beach, splashing his way through the foam. He did not go far and he aimed his kicks away from her dress, but he twirled and danced with his arms in the air, free. A soft grin lingered on Ygraine’s lips as she watched him, only faltering when his feet skimmed over the water’s surface, striding over the seawater instead of splashing through it. Merlin hardly seemed to notice, but her thoughts were dashed aside when he returned to her side.

“Show me your hands,” she ordered, catching him off guard. He obeyed, palms up, and stared dumbly as she took one and placed the other on her waist. “Have you danced before?”

He suddenly appeared very nervous. “No…certainly not a waltz, or anything like that...”

“Come here, then,” she ushered and tapped his foot with her own. “Start by stepping forward with that foot.”

He did, and managed to step to the side as she did, but beyond that he was lost. “Um…when am I going to need this?”

“When I ask you to dance,” she stated like it was obvious. “Now keep your eyes on me. The steps are contained in a box until you’re ready to venture out of it, so just step forward…step right…back with your opposite foot now…slide and repeat. Not too difficult.”

Merlin swallowed dryly and peeked down as if to see that his feet were all right—“Eyes up,” she corrected--and he jerked his chin up. He began a habit of looking everywhere but his feet as they worked through the steps until they had just enough light to see by on their way up the cliffs. Ygraine led the way toward the other end of the cliff side, where a town of multicolored cottages was built into the land. “I believe it’s this pink one,” she uttered, and when they drew nearer they saw a sign hanging over the door reading _Inn Keep._

Merlin waited with the horses while she received the keys to their flat, and then they went in search of “the robin’s egg one on the left.”

The pastel blue cottage was tall and narrow, accommodating one room per floor and a small, covered area large enough for two horses behind it. Merlin carried their bags to the second floor where the open floor kitchen and parlor were. Above was the master bedroom while the first floor was a foyer and storage space. Pots and pans were provided for them, in which Merlin reheated their pasta over the fire. He heard the rustle of fabric as Ygraine moved behind him.

“It’s almost strange how humbling it is here. Castles and mansions have drawing rooms, smoking rooms, parlors, antechambers…rooms specifically designed for every activity, even waiting. We’ve had no more than three rooms over the past week…”

Merlin peeked at her from where he stirred the pasta. “Are you unhappy living in the Pendragon Estate?”

She took a long moment to answer. “I am content. I have the people who matter most to me there. That’s all I need.”

Merlin was not sure how to respond to this, but he did not have to as his eyes flicked past her to the window. “Look,” he said, and she watched as he opened the window carefully to avoid jarring the bright blue butterfly on the glass. Merlin curled his wrist around the pane, extending a finger for the insect to flutter atop his knuckle. He brought it inside and below her gaze, but her smile was polite and not entirely understanding. “A moth?”

Merlin’s expression faltered. “No, it…you can’t see it?”

She met his eyes vacantly, glancing down at the dusty brown moth on his finger instead of the black, fuzzy insect and its translucent blue wings ribbed with darker blue veins.

Merlin blinked, considering something… Could he do it? He’d already communicated with her mentally, but could he… He half-jokingly and half-horrifically considered how the only thing that could go wrong was he boiled Ygraine’s mind into nothing, but he wanted her to _see…_

With his other hand, he delicately touched between her brows with the pads of his fingers, and reached forward with his mind. He felt her familiar buzz, the warm music of her mind, before he locked eyes on the batting wings of the butterfly. _“Can you see as I see?”_

Her lips were parted, her eyes already focused on the butterfly. She laughed giddily, “Hiding in plain sight! Just like you.”

“Here,” he offered, “Open your palm.”

She did, and failed to restrain her girlish giggles as the tiny legs tickled her flesh as it crawled to her. “Why is it blue? How come it…oh Merlin…” When she looked up at him with her questions her eyes sidetracked to the view outside the window. The ocean thrashed lethargically against the town’s shore, its froth a myriad of white, blue, and golden sparks. Here and there were splashes of magic: a house’s threshold, a cellar shining beneath a home, the blanket swaddled around a newborn…the road winding between the homes was like a black satin ribbon, having been made by hands and not magic.

“Is this how you see the world all the time?” Ygraine breathed. “You can see _through_ things?”

Merlin laughed breathily. “If I focus, yes. If I let them, my eyes seek the magic around me, even if there is a barrier between us. If I ignore it, the world is as you view it, with some exceptions.” He peered at the second butterfly soaring through the window to land on his chest.

“Why would you ever ignore this?” she exhaled. Her eyes were torn between watching the butterfly crawling up her wrist and the wonders outside.

“Because it’s dangerous,” he murmured, extending a hand. As if summoned, a third butterfly fluttered to his fingertips. “Because it’s embarrassing and unpredictable.”

“Embarrassing?” she repeated as if the word affronted her.

Merlin gave her a quizzical smirk. “That’s what bothers you? Never mind that it’s unpredictable?”

“You seem to handle it well,” she shrugged casually. Yet another butterfly swooped in to hover over Merlin’s hair before settling down and extending its wings almost protectively over him. “They certainly like you.”

“They roost in the broken wall of the estate. They’re what’s been keeping the repairs from happening.”

Ygraine guffawed, causing the insect on her arm to lift off and flutter back down. “Curiously strong for such small things. But really, why is this ability embarrassing?”

Merlin inhaled and sighed, “When I was younger, no one could see what I did. Of course I know why now, but after my friends stopped playing pretend for me I could still see it. My mother humored me and asked me to tell her everything I saw so she could imagine it herself, but eventually she had to explain to me how what I was seeing was in my mind alone.”

“You were lonely,” Ygraine spoke softly.

“I thought I was mad,” he revised. “Especially every time my power lashed out. Sometimes it’s gentle, like now,” he exchanged the butterfly on his hand to the other, “but other times…well, you’ve seen it.”

“You were protecting me,” she defended. “Surely the other times were for some purpose?” she hoped.

Merlin shook his head. “I learned how to subdue it for the most part when I was awake, but always when I’m asleep it’s like it takes revenge on me. Cows would grow an extra horn over night. Our roof caught fire. We would wake up to our house being flooded while the rest of the valley was dry…”

“Your magic sounds like Arthur,” she mused, earning a comically puzzled look from Merlin. She explained, “You need a purpose, a task, otherwise you run amuck.”

He smirked fondly at the memory of the boy who was probably sulking over books at this very moment. “Maybe that’s why it’s been easier…traveling with you, attending as your steward seems to ease the beasts inside me.”

Ygraine caught him off guard with, “Have you noticed how there are no birds in the Pendragon house?”

He frowned with confusion. “No? I don’t understand…”

She explained, “As much as Arthur has begged me, I won’t allow caged creatures in our home. They grow rowdy and restless if they are not free to fly and be what they are. You are the same; in the past week you have used your abilities more than you probably have in the past year. I don’t want you to be caged, Merlin…especially with this at your fingertips.”

She gazed outside once more and smiled at the plethora of butterflies that had since landed along the window frame. But Merlin's eyes were on her, having observed her over the past week of travel, and he could not help but feel like she was the one caged.

The butterflies took off a second before a rhythmic knocking sounded downstairs. Merlin moved toward the stairs but paused at the feeling of Ygraine’s hand on his shoulder. “I’ll get it.”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure? But I’m—”

“Stir the pot,” she directed, already on the first step down. “I don’t want Agatha’s hard work getting burnt. We haven’t eaten more than breakfast. You must be famished.”

In truth, he was, but the distractions of the day had kept his needs at bay. Merlin crouched by the fire and stirred the heavy contents as he heard the door open, followed by a velvety, female voice greeting, “Hello, Ygraine.”

His movements stilled. In London, only three people knew she was coming prior of their arrival. It was not impossible she had written ahead to someone—she'd mentioned how she originally lived in the south—but Merlin reached outward for her, turning his head to peer through the floor at the dark haired woman standing on their threshold. Her hair was tied to one side so it cascaded over one shoulder while her attire was trousers, a shirt loosely tucked into her waistline, and riding boots.

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” she asked, but something in her tone set Merlin on edge. Ygraine hadn’t invited her, if her statuesque composure was any indication, and the woman sounded as if it was Ygraine’s duty to show her hospitality. They may be in the south but a duchess was a duchess everywhere.

 _Merlin,_ Ygraine called inside his head. Her fear confirmed his worries.

_I’m here. I see her. Who is she?_

_A sorceress. Nimueh._ Then aloud she uttered, “What do you want? You agreed never to see me again.”

Merlin was glad she sounded stronger aloud than in the mental space they shared. He pushed his pride onto her, reciprocally feeling her tension ease.

“I felt that you were in the area,” the witch chimed. “I couldn’t avoid a visit. There is a rumor you’ve brought a young man with you…but by my count, Arthur shouldn’t be past nine.”

“Arthur isn’t here,” Ygraine responded coolly. “What business would you have with him if he were?”

“None,” Nimueh laughed. “I just like to admire my work on occasion. As all artists do.”

“He’s my son,” Ygraine countered. “All you did was—”

“All I did was make you fertile for a night,” the woman sighed exasperatedly. “Give and give and people are never happy. Why are you cross with me? You have your golden beloved and Uther has his heir. I made your lives complete, didn’t I?”

“And you agreed never to let me see you again,” Ygraine repeated. “Not to mention how you were careless with your potions. Arthur was sickly for the betterment of five years.”

Nimueh shrugged. “Children get sick, Ygraine. Many of them die. I did what you asked, the rest was out of my hands. Now are you really going to discuss enchantments on the stoop? What will the neighbors think?”

 _To hell with the neighbors. Just leave,_ Merlin reflected inwardly. Directly to Ygraine he asked, _Do you want her gone?_

As the Duchess considered this, though, Nimueh’s eyes flicked up and met Merlin’s through the floor. “Skirting with magic again? You’ve chosen a curious travel companion."

Ygraine turned her back, leaving the door open for Nimueh to smirk as she followed into the house. Merlin did not like this. He did not like seeing the duchess lowered, powerless against this person. He kept his eyes focused on the sorceress as they ascended to the second floor. Whereas Ygraine was slim like willow branches, Nimueh was slightly curvier and filled her attire as if she wanted the world to see how she defied its expectations. Merlin silently summoned Ygraine to his side and lithely stepped between her and the sorceress. He reached back and found her wrist, gently holding it to give her physical comfort.

Nimueh’s Mediterranean blue eyes scanned the room as well as his gesture toward Ygraine. She smiled quaintly. “Where did you find him?”

“He found me,” she countered.

“Lucky girl,” Nimueh purred. Her fingers slid across the kitchen table as she waved her other hand; the pitcher on the counter tipped over a glass until it was full. Merlin stared as if transfixed. Her eyes had not glowed, not even shimmered yellow. This did not bode well if her power was so great that simply handling a pitcher did not spark any aesthetic changes. Merlin’s teeth ground together at the memory of a different pitcher exploding when he tried the same enchantment. “He has a strong aura about him.”

 _“Don’t distract me with flattery,”_ he growled. Nimueh’s chin jerked in his direction with a fascinated smile.

“Feisty too. You’re the one they call _Emrys._ ”

“ ‘They’ does not include you,” he smarted.

She laughed merrily, enough to bow her shoulders over her beverage. “Oh, it’s such a relief to experience a magic user with a bit of personality. The rest of them have become so dull. _You even know the language,_ ” she added with approval, switching tongues entirely. _"It takes decades for some to chant a single spell."_

 _What is she saying?_ asked Ygraine warily, her other hand clenching Merlin’s sleeve.

 _She’s speaking in the language of magic but not casting any enchantments,_ he reassured. Much as he had before with his sight, he pushed his understanding of the language towards her, allowing her to understand as he said, _“It is rude to exclude your hostess from the discussion."_

Nimueh scoffed and took a sip of her water. _"There isn’t a shred of magic in her. Nothing special. Why should I treat someone differently because of an extra word in front of their name?"_

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat, but not from fear. _She can’t see,_ he realized. Powerful she may be, but she could not _see_ like he could…

Because inside Nimueh was a single speck of gold, circulating throughout the chambers of her heart just like anybody else. It was brighter than most, but he had seen a similar spark of gold inside Ygraine, inside Gaius, Uther…only Arthur shined as Merlin did, because Merlin _was_ magic and Arthur was _built_ from magic, but Nimueh was not as special as she believed.

_“Don’t treat yourself righteously if you don’t act like it.”_

She snorted over her drink. _“Righteous? Oh gods, you haven’t been listening to sermons by the cross-wearers, have you? They know nothing of miracles.”_

“Nor you of courtesy,” he returned to English. “What is it you want?”

Nimueh set her glass down and nodded toward Ygraine. “I want her husband to stop persecuting us. That godsforsaken law against magic folk would have been forgotten if he hadn’t dug it up from its dusty shelves.”

“Only because the Druids keep causing trouble,” Ygraine defended. “He would be much more tolerant if a witch hadn’t come to kill our son.”

Nimueh laughed mirthlessly. “Please. Uther has been coming after us long before that mistake of a witch tried to wreck a little vengeance. He is working toward eradicating our culture, our rights. Perhaps he should stop throwing money toward the science academies and thank the discrete doctors and nurses using their magic to keep people alive.”

Ygraine gripped Merlin tighter but shifted to stand beside him. “The study of medicine and the sciences is a valiant endeavor. Knowing how the human body works is valuable to us who can’t use magic.”

 _“We’ve_ known how the body functions for millennia,” Nimueh countered easily. “We were the ones people came to for remedies, for healing. Then someone got it into their heads that because they couldn’t _understand_ magic, this made it _wrong._ You wouldn’t need your metal machines and electric kites if the mundane side of humanity hadn’t lost faith in the marvelous.”

 _Emrys,_ said a warm baritone.

 _Not now,_ he shooed.

 _I sense you are far away…near the edge of my caverns…_ Merlin could feel the dragon arching through the pitch dark air, soaring beneath the country to the shoreline. _The sea? Ah, I miss it’s salt, it’s freshness. The fish are quite delicious too, especially the tentacle—_

 _I don’t have time, dragon! I’m dealing with a witch right now!_ he snapped.

Suddenly, a searing heat engulfed him like a white hot sword thrusting into his mind and melting into his veins to sink through his body. Extending his thoughts to Ygraine had been easy, but being on the receiving end of a dragon was, to say the least, excruciating.

But it was a different kind of pain. Merlin stood straight as iron while the dragon looked through him. In the rear of his mind he could hear Ygraine calling his name and feel her hands pivoting him to examine his face, but his eyes were locked on Nimueh, whose own blue gaze was widening, finally in shock. The dragon roared in his head at the sight of her, claws as long as javelins biting into the rock and crumbling it as easily as cheese. Merlin felt it as if they were his own fingertips.

 _Emrys, keep away from her!_ he growled menacingly. _Fowl creature! You must remove her!_

“You’ve got yourself a pet dragon,” the witch breathed, a giddy light blooming behind her eyes. “I thought those were extinct.”

 _Everything she does is for herself,_ he roared inside Merlin’s head. The dragon’s power thrashed, suddenly desperate for freedom. Merlin could see the air in front of his lips fog with heat against the chill of the room. He felt the glossy, third eyelids pass over golden eyes, but he was no longer sure if they were the dragon’s or his own. _Her purpose to this world has already been fulfilled. REMOVE HER, EMRYS._

“Get out,” he ordered, the velvet of his voice contrasting his demeanor.

“The Pendragons and a Dragon Lord,” Nimueh mused as if she had not heard him. “I would scold you for being on the wrong side, but then again you’re not entirely a Druid. The last Dragon Lord had the same issue: showing too much of his scaly side—his backside to be more specific. The coward ran while we Druids stood our ground. Dragons are supposed to be honorary and fierce. Their descendants have proven shameful and weak. Are you here to change that?”

“I’ll only ask you once,” Merlin warned. “My lady has already told you she doesn’t want your company.”

“Or perhaps there is reason behind the notoriety of your name, Emrys,” she continued, stepping forward as if to examine him. “A Dragon Lord must have his dragon, and you have a whole family of Pendragons at your disposal. I admit, their name is a farce to the real thing, but one can’t deny the irony. The next family aligned for the throne is a wondrous weapon indeed—”

 _“Get out,”_ he said with finality, and his eyes locked on the ember of magic inside her chest, keeping her alive and not just a sack of meat, bile, and bone.

The mirth and curiosity in Nimueh’s face vanished as she clutched her chest, her own eyes finally flashing yellow. _“Arrogant pet,”_ she seethed, physically and magically holding her life together. _“Do you know who I am?”_

 _“I know what you are,”_ he replied, smoothly stepping between Ygraine and the sorceress again. _“You’re transparent.”_

Nimueh’s eyes flashed, livid at his audacity and Merlin felt the soles of his feet root into the floor. The dragon roared between his ears, and he suddenly realized that Nimueh’s power would have thrown him through the wall unless the dragon held firm against her.

And just as suddenly, Merlin felt as angry as he’d been in that alleyway; more livid than when he was being cemented underground, more furious than when he was getting beaten in the dark. He could only liken this moment to seeing Ygraine’s skirts tossed over her head, because here she was in danger again, and for once Merlin felt in charge of his powers.

 _“Don’t speak of honor when you have none,”_ he growled. _“You have no right to pick a fight here, and you’re willing to take down the entire house for your petty ends! GET OUT!”_

Nimueh’s hand shot out as if to physically withstand his power. A shaky laugh bubbled up from her throat from the exertion. “You’ve never dueled another wielder, I can tell. Between the two of us we could wipe out this entire town. Who is lacking manners, now?”

“Merlin…” Ygraine murmured behind him, her fear in her voice now. His arm transferred from her wrist to curl in front of her waist so he was her shield. He guarded his thoughts from her, not wanting her to know what he was willing to do in that moment, not wanting her to hear, _I will destroy this entire coast as long as she is still standing. She has to go home for Arthur’s birthday, but you and I can rot here._

His power surged inside of him, answering his call…and Merlin loved it. It had been too much, overbearing, excruciating to have the dragon’s mind encompass his own, but now everything inside him rose up, and they were one and the same. Merlin knew in his bones that Nimueh was right: somewhere in his lineage was a drop of dragon blood. He did not know how nor did he care about the particulars; all Merlin knew was that his pain was gone, and he was ready to test his wings.

“Try harder, pet,” Nimueh taunted. Her stance straightened and she adjusted her feet while he dwelled in his reverie. The lull allowed her to add, “Make your duchess proud.”

Ygraine’s hand clenched Merlin’s biceps harder than ever. “Merlin, don’t.”

He stilled, his arm lifted and ready to wrench Nimueh apart, but he stilled. “My lady?” he asked aloud.

 _I don’t want death to be your first instinct,_ she thought. “She isn’t worth it,” she said aloud, but underneath she reiterated, _I don’t want you to be a killer. I want you to be yourself. Damn the rest of the world._

Merlin’s eyes wavered, searching the room as if the vase of flowers might give him answers. Then his gaze locked on Nimueh’s mind, a barred hub of activity he was not allowed inside. If he could not stop her heart, there was another option.

Nimueh cried out and grasped her nape the instant his power barged through her barriers. A second later she collapsed to the floor.

Ygraine gasped quietly. “Did you just—?”

“She’s asleep,” Merlin assured. “But I doubt it will be for long.”

 _You’ll do better to kill her,_ the baritone rumbled inside his skull.

 _You’ve been in your caves too long,_ Merlin scolded. He turned to Ygraine and asked, “What would you have me do?”

The Duchess sighed and pressed her thumb to her lips. “I would have us leave her behind, but it isn’t safe to travel this late…”

She thought a moment more, but before she could reach a conclusion Merlin offered, “I can take her somewhere else.”

Ygraine’s eyes lifted with a mixture of suspicion and worry. “You don’t know this side of the country and I won’t leave you alone with her if she awakens.”

“I can match her,” Merlin declared and promised, “I’ll only take her to the next town over. She will need time to recover before she comes after us again.”

This was a hypothetical assumption of his, but the sooner the sorceress was gone, the better. Ygraine’s thumb pressed into the seam of her lips, a visible gauge of how deeply she was considering the offer. “The next town over, but no further.”

Merlin nodded and hoisted Nimueh off the floor. On his way to the stalls behind the house, Ygraine prattled maternal warnings at him while Aithusa stuck her head out to greet him. His magic unlocked her door and she eagerly pushed it open and trotted to his side. Her nose poked through Nimueh’s dark hair and snorted before he heaved the sleeping witch over her flanks. He didn’t waste time with a saddle or bridle and vaulted onto her back to grip the pearly tresses of her mane.

“Merlin—” Ygraine continued.

“Don’t get caught. Be safe. Come back,” he finished, summing up everything she had been telling him. “The next village is a two hour ride away. I’ll be back before sunup.”

“See that you are!” she huffed, gripping her elbows agitatedly. “Arthur would never forgive me if I lost you.”

Merlin had to laugh at that. Never mind his mother expecting them on their way back or Gaius awaiting his apprentice, Ygraine feared her own son’s wrath. “Here I thought his mother was selfish for me.”

Ygraine rolled her eyes up at him but her smile was smug. “He has my best traits. Now go and ride swiftly, before she wakes up.”

She moved aside for Aithusa, who broke into a gallop almost immediately. Merlin kept a grip on the waistline of Nimueh’s trousers while her head and legs flopped about indignantly, but Aithusa shortened two hours with graceful strides. Unlike the choppy shoreline of the cliffs’ village, this town was constructed around a harbor with various watercrafts bobbing sleepily with the tide. Ships’ bells and wind chimes twittered over the breeze as Aithusa’s hooves clip-clopped over the cobble road. In the dark of night no one was around or peeking through their windows to see a strange body slumped over a teenager’s bright horse.

 _Where oh where should a demon witch sleep…_ Merlin hummed to himself as Aithusa slowed to a walk.

 _In the sea,_ the dragon groaned.

 _Shut up,_ Merlin chided. _Are you in my head all the time and only make yourself known at night?_

But then his gaze jerked to the quay and the plethora of ships docked there. _Oh. Not a bad idea._

 _I meant underneath the water,_ the dragon reiterated.

 _Keep your macabre thoughts to yourself!_ Merlin strained as he slid Nimueh gawkily off of Aithusa. She was heavier than Ygraine and a dead weight in her slumbers, but Merlin threw her roughly across his shoulder and left Aithusa in the shadows while he tread over the dock. He doubted it mattered which ship he chose, so he went for the one with a gangplank already leveled between the vessel and the dock.

Behind him, a tall steeple gonged the hour. Merlin nearly lost his footing twice from the rocking of the sea beneath him until he set Nimueh down amongst several bundles of hemp at the bow of the ship. Spritely making his way back to the gangplank, Merlin listened intently to the shudder of hulls around him—

He paused with his foot on the threshold of the ship. A strange, creaking sound was faintly coming across the air. Unlike the ships dancing on the water’s current, the sound lacked a predictable harmony, like a song on a piano except for a single key out of tune.

Merlin’s head swiveled and was able to see the glimmer of light on Nimueh’s boot, but the witch slumbered deeply. He did a full rotation and faced a narrow, salt stained door with a brass knob tarnished turquoise. Pressing his ear against it, Merlin heard the sound again, but it was as if it was coming from the stern of the ship. Merlin considered ascending the small flight of stairs to the higher deck to look over the edge, but a soft _whump_ joined the creaking. His hand was already on the rough texture of the knob, but its inner mechanisms were oiled for a silent turn.

Merlin’s eyes blinked against the spot of light that was hidden on the far side of the cabin, but he did not have the cognizance to hastily shut the door. He had barely opened it when his gaze locked on the jarring figures on the stiff bed. In a matter of seconds, Merlin’s mind warped into hyper activity at the sight of sweat droplets and…oil? shimmering in the candlelight. His eyes absorbed what he saw but somehow could not process what he was seeing in smooth transition. In the back of his mind he could hear the stable hands boasting and guffawing over _ah the way she yelped when I gave her a smack on her arse…you know the sound? That wet schlak schlak of yer hips pumpin’ together?_

But the smaller man’s chest was flat, the soft planes of his young body…too young. The man whose hands were like claws digging into his hips was hovering over him, a short rusty beard scratching over the youth’s shoulder blades.

_Just as there isn’t anything wrong with being cabin boy to the captain…_

The pieces in Merlin’s mind suddenly slammed together. Captain. Cabin’s boy. The captain’s cabin. Sex. They’re men…but men don’t have a—oh.

“Oh,” he blurted.

Men do it… _there._

“Oh.”

Abruptly the smell of the cabin collided with Merlin’s sinuses as if he had not been breathing up until now. His hand whipped up to bury his nose in his sleeve, shielding against the rank of fermented sweat and other bodily fluids.

“Oh.”

And then husky eyes turned in his direction and sharpened. He bolted for the gangplank as the captain’s shouts grated over his ears—

Something large and hard slammed into him, knocking him right over one canon and into the next in line. Merlin had thought the iron would be too thick to gong like a bell, or perhaps it was his skull ringing, but his vision went black and spotty. Intermittently he was aware of hands grabbing him, of Nimueh’s hair brushing his face, of his body swaying back and forth over cobblestones, the brightness of flames, and then finally he startled at the feeling of water droplets on his face.

Merlin’s eyes widened as large as his raging headache would allow to absorb the golden light reflecting off of the vaulted ceiling. Craning his neck painfully, he found tiers of candles flanking the church organ and the ornately carved crucifix hanging over it. Beside him rested Nimueh, now rousing as well with the splashes of water across her nose.

“What—no. All of you can fuck off—Hmrrrm!” she exclaimed before a scarf gagged her words.

“Good grief, at least show some respect for where you are,” some one chided, and both the witch and Merlin gazed up at a young teenager with sandy hair and skin the color of toasted almonds. Merlin blanched, recognizing him as the cabin boy but with clothes on.

 _He must be my age…_ Merlin could not help but think, and the room began to sway again as his mind fled the notion.

But then the rugged captain himself appeared and clapped the boy on the shoulder before handing him what looked like a jar of wine. The middle-aged man who had sprinkled water on them apologized, “I am sorry for our lack of cups. Our goblets were recently stolen and the other dish ware was hidden out of spite. Do tell me, what use have your kind with gold and silver?”

His muddy eyes focused on Merlin and Nimueh. The latter growled behind her gag but Merlin frowned, puzzled. “We didn’t steal them.”

The light played off of the man’s silver muttonchops as he smiled. “I didn’t think so, but you are Druids, are you not? She bares the marks. You were, of course, too young to have been marked before.”

Merlin did not understand, and said so. “What do you mean, marks?”

His eyes widened as the man unbuttoned Nimueh’s shirt enough to pull it back between her shoulders and revealed a brand just under her nape. It was like a triangle, but each point detached to form a swirl. A brand was one thing, but Merlin grimaced at the shadows of other burns across her back; other triangles and stars and lashing scars.

Merlin’s breathing quickened in his chest. “Druids wouldn’t do that. They…they wouldn’t mark their people like that.”

The man, whom Merlin guessed was either a priest or another member of the church based on his simple black robe covering his nightgown, opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the captain. “Get on with it.”

“Yes, of course.” The older man crossed to the corner of the room, where a fireplace belched sparks as an air pocket burst within a log. A black rod moved from the fire, but its glowing red end loomed closer as the man returned. Merlin squirmed away from it only to feel his back pressed against the side of a pew. He could hear the sizzle of moist air on the red-hot triangle.

“D-Do churches just _keep_ those things handy?” he exclaimed.

“The ones who are aware,” the priest confirmed kindly, as if he were about to hand over a pastry. “Druids have been emigrating out of the area, which is a relief, but they still cause quite a bit of trouble. Now hold still, this will be over before you know it.”

Merlin felt as if his eyes were bulging from his skull. “Wha—ME? Why me? I haven’t done anything!”

The captain corrected in a gruff voice, “Your eyes turned yellow when ye hit the canon.”

Merlin felt like growled inwardly. _Of all the fucking times, magic!_ “But I’m not evil! I’m not here to steal or hurt anyone or—”

“We assumed you were the one dropping off the witch,” the cabin boy chimed over his wine. His cheeks flushed scarlet as he gulped it down. “Do you know how dangerous it is to leave a woman on a ship? They’re bad luck for a reason—drive the men wild.”

The priest sighed as he shook his head. “I once tutored a group of Druid boys. The lot of them ran amuck as if it was beyond their power. It’s beyond me how they can’t even be good to one another. Now, just breathe through this. It’s for your own good.”

“WHAT GOOD IS THAT?” Merlin screamed, his voice cracking as the captain grabbed him and shoved him onto his stomach. Merlin could smell the wine and sweat on him, the rotten shellfish and the musk of sex as his vest was ripped first. His inhalations were shallow and quick as he squirmed over the stone floor, trying to escape the smell and those strong, violating hands before they tore through his shirt. Merlin’s voice escaped in a gargle when his scarf was the last to be touched, practically wrenched from his throat.

“Goodness,” the priest remarked at the sight of his scars. “It seems you’ve already been marked in a way.”

Despite the heat of the room, Merlin felt cold air skim over his shoulder blades. The rigid soles of the captain’s boot held him down while his arms were twisted and held behind him. He saw the bare toes of the priest step toward him but he could not see the rod hovering over him.

“Simply put, water is too gentle and cannot wash away your sins. You were born with something dangerous and vile that must be burnt from you, but using the stake releases your soul from your body. We’ve come to realize that the evil inside you can be controlled, but there are cruel people who indulge it and there are good. This is a new method, but for those good people it begins the purging process while giving your soul more time on this earth.”

"Serves as a reminder," the captain rephrased.

“If there are good people, why can’t you leave them alone?” Merlin cried, trembling and waiting for heat to meet flesh.

“Because we can’t run the risk of the good being corrupted by the bad,” the priest said, and Merlin heard Nimueh groan as if she were rolling her eyes.

Merlin’s eyes spanned wide as he heard the crackle of the rod, but it was the only warning he had before it pressed hard over his spine and between his shoulder blades. His outcry turned into a clipped scream as he shoved his body against the floor, trying to flee the sizzling pain. The stone tiles broke beneath him, causing his torso to pivot askew and the rod slipped from the priest’s hand, clattering harshly across the floor.

Nimueh, having been left to her own devices, snatched it and swung first at the captain’s head. He landed like a sack of clay along with his cabin boy as the wine jars shattered, staining the stone with dark splashes. Yanking the gag off, she chanted a quick spell and fire leapt out of the branding rod. The red glow of the metal faded, its heat transformed into flame that latched onto the priest’s robe and nightgown. The man screamed louder than Merlin had, flailing and only adding air to the engorged flames.

Nimueh was running for the double doors on the other end of the church. With his heart pounding against his ribs, Merlin stumbled to his feet and ran after her. “Wait! You’re not any better than they are!”

She whirled around, her eyes aglow. _“How can you defend them? How can you side with the maggots eating away at what makes this world? Watch him burn, Emrys. Watch him light this whole place ablaze. Let them all remember who we are and who commands this world.”_

 _“People like you are the reason they fear us! The reason they hate us!”_ he cried. _“You’re not solving the problem—you’re making it worse!”_

It was hard to say whether the expression on the witches face was a smile or a snarl. _“Then stay out of this war like the last Dragon Lord. At least he was smart enough not to make an enemy of himself with both sides!”_

Merlin turned around, wanting to put the flames out, but the man was already slumped over a pew, his figure unmoving as the fire began to lick across the wood. Extending a hand, he watched the flames dim to blue before the corpse crumpled into ash and the fire flickered out. By the time Merlin ran out the doors, Nimueh was gone. He remained only long enough to see that the sparks of life in the boy and captain had extinguished from Nimueh’s blow.

Aithusa met him in the streets, snorting haughtily and clipping her hooves over the road as her nose pummeled his chest. “Enough, enough, we need to go,” he urged, and vaulted onto her back only to collapse over her neck from the pain reverberating through his back and shoulders. Aithusa’s head circled around to nibble on his knee, but he straightened and ordered. “Go, just go.”

He gripped her mane as she took off without any prompting toward the cliffs. Merlin tentatively reached a hand back and exclaimed when he found one of the hot swirls burned into him. _Please,_ he begged inwardly. _Water heal what fire has burned. Heal me._

The tickle on the surface as well as deep within his flesh was more like invisible needles stitching him back together, but he let his tears fall freely from the pain and commanded the rips in his raiment to fasten over his bare skin.

It was a relief to find Ygraine sound asleep on the sofa. An unfinished bowl of pasta rested beside her, which Merlin took to the sink for washing later. Keeping her mind calm, Merlin carried her to the bed before he removed his vest and shirt by the vanity. Pivoting so he could see his back, he grimaced at the dark rusty scar resting between his shoulder blades. Because the rod had landed off kilter, one of the swirls was incomplete, making the brand fade in severity from one side to the other.

He glanced at the Duchess to make sure she slept soundly and refastened his clothes while letting his eyes shine. In the darkness, he could see magic blooming out of nothing and crawling out of the woodwork to seal windows and doors secure.

 _You will see her again,_ the dragon foretold inside his head.

Merlin looked up through the floors, where he was locking the front door himself. He glanced at Ygraine’s prostrate figure and then out toward the sea. _Then I’ll kill her._

_Betraying your precious morals, young warlock?_

_Adjusting them,_ he corrected.

The warmth of the dragon remained in his mind throughout the night, but neither of them said anything as the sun cast pink and gold hues throughout the flat upon rising. Ygraine emerged from the bedroom while Merlin was washing out the pasta bowl as the kettle screamed. Her first words were, “Would you hate me if I wanted to start the way home today?”

His gaze lifted from the teacups. “No.”

She held her elbows and gazed out of the window toward the sea horizon. “I miss my son, and the appearance of Nimueh makes me fear for him. And it’s his birthday soon…we can’t miss it.”

“We can be gone within the hour,” Merlin promised, choosing to keep silent about his own agreement to leave and how he had already packed their saddlebags. He had no intention of telling her about last night.

They rode past London and Hunith was as jubilant as ever to see Merlin so soon. She kept them a day later in order to bake a heaping portion of cakes and other travel goods, along with a small carrot cake for Arthur when she learned it was his birthday within the week. Hunith insisted they take the horses instead of arranging a travel carriage since she had no need for two extra horses and Aithusa was too restless for farm labor anyhow.

The Pendragon Estate was calm and peaceful upon their arrival. Everyone gazed blankly at them until they realized what this meant and charged into a frenzy for a proper welcome. The stable hands moved aside for Merlin to handle the one-eyed horse and rambunctious pearlescent one, instead carrying their saddlebags into the house. Uther rushed out to lift Ygraine in the courtyard, twirling her round in his embrace. “You came on horseback?” he wondered. “Didn’t you leave with a trunk?”

“It’s in safe care with Merlin’s mother. She will have better use for a storage container than me. Where is Arthur?”

Merlin perked up from where he had been leading the horses toward the stables. Uther was not a hesitant man, but his answer was slow, and Merlin saw a wary look on his face. To the unfamiliar, his features merely looked as statuesque as always, but Merlin had seen the same look on Arthur’s face too many times to know what guilt looked like.

“We haven’t seen him.”

Ygraine was the one to look like a statue now, poised like marble with her husband’s hands clasped in hers. “You haven’t seen him...” she repeated, deadpan.

Uther transferred his hands to her waist as if to calm her, but she lithely pushed them off. “Don’t be worrisome…he’s surely nearby. I might have slipped the day before last that he is to start school in the spring…”

Suddenly, it became abundantly apparent how the woman was able to handle the Duke’s temper: where Uther’s anger was loud and explosive, Ygraine’s was silent, cold, and seething. “You _might have slipped?_ You know he has trouble with social interaction and reading, but you _might have slipped_ that he was about to experience both of these in depth for the next nine years? Did your brain _possibly slip_ out of your nose while you slept? Do I have to look after it all the bloody time?”

“Ygraine,” Uther began sternly, but she had turned away and strode to Merlin.

“Find him.”

He gave a curt nod and clicked his tongue to get the horses to trot into the stables. Since it was empty but for animals, he waved his hand on his way out, instantaneously cleaning their hooves of dirt, freeing their tails of leaves and briars, and filling their buckets with water and oats. If Arthur hadn’t been seen for the last two days then he would have to be somewhere no one would check…

Merlin ran around the estate and barged into the kitchen, ignoring Cook’s harrumphs as he descended into the cellar. Letting his third eyelids slide over his irises, the darkness illuminated to reveal nothing but ice buckets and rodents. Merlin took the stairs two at a time and outright ordered, “MOVE!” causing Cook to sputter out of his way.

Craning his neck, Merlin peered through the rows of the garden, crouching low enough to see through the bushes in case a stubborn blond boy had taken to camping there, then he searched the trees. He doubted Arthur would tolerate branches for so long, but he could not put it past someone as headstrong as…

_What am I doing? There’s an easier way than this._

Merlin turned toward the house, and peered through every particle of non-magic, seeing through every stone, tapestry, and person before he lowered his gaze toward Gaius in his study. The man had been working with Arthur on physical therapy and might have been the last person to see—

There he was, a small golden bundle on Merlin’s bed, just beyond Gaius.

The physician himself roused from his writings when the door opened and he grinned. “Back so soon?”

Merlin accepted his hug but replied, “Do you know Arthur’s in my room? Uther said he was missing.”

Gaius frowned as if this merely intrigued him. “Really? Well, I’d never have guessed to look there.”

Merlin relinquished a smirk. Leave it to Gaius to ally with a boy against his Duke of a father. “Could you at least tell Ygraine where he is?”

“Certainly,” Gaius agreed, and idled his way upstairs. Merlin opened his bedroom door and realized Arthur was sound asleep. Removing his boots and quickly changing into a fresh shirt and scarf, he carefully lowered his weight onto the bed behind Arthur. He curled his arm underneath his head and murmured, “Hey sleepy head. Is it normal for princes to sleep all day?”

Perhaps Arthur wasn’t asleep at all, since he uttered without turning around, “Where have you been?”

“Here and there.”

“You almost missed my birthday,” he scolded quietly.

“I would never. I’ve got days to spare,” Merlin quipped, but Arthur was silent for a long while. Eventually Merlin leaned forward to nuzzle the space behind Arthur’s ear. “You do know this is my bed, right?”

Arthur shivered from the tingles and wriggled deeper into his pillow. “Obviously, you twit. You weren’t using it, frolicking around the countryside as you were.”

“It’s natural to be afraid of school,” Merlin said gently, “but you needn’t be.”

Arthur hesitated as he shifted his weight on the mattress. “How would you know? You’re an apprentice. You’ve never been to school.”

“True,” he admitted, “but to be with people like you will be nice. They’ll be your age and the sons of other lords and dukes and knights. You won’t have to hang around with boring servants like me all day.”

Arthur inhaled and sighed, “That will be a nice change.”

Merlin smiled. “And you’ve got months to get ready, and Cook will send you jams and cakes. Ygraine will write you letters and your father will be able to visit during his travels—”

“You won’t?”

“Hm?” Merlin blurted, already on a roll with his list.

“You can’t be bothered to write to me?” Arthur reiterated.

Merlin turned his head into his pillow, stifling his chuckles. “Well if you hate reading I can’t count on you to read them, can I?”

“Yes you can!” Arthur rebuked. “How lowly do you think of me?”

“Do you understand that letters want replies?” he challenged.

Arthur huffed and beat his pillow into place. “Of course I know that! Why can’t you just speak plainly and tell me you’ll miss me?”

His slender shoulder hunched suddenly, as if he hadn’t meant to say that, and Merlin lazily tucked the wheat strands behind his ear. “I don’t have to if you say it first.”

“Yes you do,” Arthur grumbled. “It doesn’t mean anything if you don’t say it back.”

Abruptly, he turned around to face Merlin and sighed haughtily. “You do everything wrong.” With that, he lifted Merlin’s arm and draped it over him like a blanket, snuggling right alongside Merlin’s body and nuzzling his chest through the scarf. Merlin let his laughter out as he snaked his other arm beneath Arthur’s neck to cushion his head. That same arm curled upward to brush through the blond hair, his fingertips lethargically stimulating Arthur’s scalp.

“If you know I’ll miss you, then remember it while you’re gone,” he advised, “and know that I’ll look forward to seeing you again because of it.”

Arthur’s voice was muffled as he asked, “Did you miss me this time?”

Merlin waited to reply in order to inhale the boy’s scent deeply into his lungs. “More than you can know, sire.”

Arthur wiggled again, fisting the fabric of Merlin’s shirt below the brand on his back. “Good,” he muttered contently.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered before the boy fell too deep into sleep. “Have you ever seen a woman with dark hair wearing trousers?”

“What are you on about?” Arthur grumbled. “Women don’t wear trousers, Merlin.”

“But if you see one, tell me.”

“You’re back for five minutes and you’re already bossing me around,” Arthur complained.

“That’s right, your majesty,” Merlin soothed. “Now sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have officially caught up with my chapters haha expect updates to come much more slowly from here on out, but I hope you're all enjoying it! All comments and kudos are adored :)


	5. Breaking Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next chapter were originally all in one but it became too much haha
> 
> "Acqua alta" is high tide in Venice when the streets are literally flooded by the sea. (There are several Italian things in these next two chapters so if you have any questions just ask :)

Five years later.

“Are you ready, Merlin?”

“Yes, my lady,” he replied in his soft, deep voice. “Aithusa is saddled and waiting for you.”

“She didn’t give you much trouble, did she?” the Duchess hoped with a smile.

He returned it, “No, my lady, but this is more than I can say for the stable hands.”

She laughed enough for her shoulders to tremble as he fastened the ribbon of her pendant around her neck. “The horse has a sense for quality, obviously. One shouldn’t settle for anything less.”

He laughed breathily and adjusted a pearl pin in her hair before he checked himself for lint and extended his elbow to her. “Uther mentioned that he wanted us to be prompt with our arrival.”

She rolled her eyes with a mischievous pout. “I might be tempted for you to reset that man’s pocket watch. Rushing about is hard on my digestion; it’s difficult enough keeping up with you.”

He smiled as they descended the stairs of the London flat, nodding toward Agatha on her way up to clean the stoops of her tenants. She gave a kind, “My lady,” to Ygraine in her haste with undisguised avoidance of Merlin. Their interaction over the years had come to the point where she did not dislike him, but she was steadfast in her beliefs on social conduct and was perfectly comfortable in ignoring those who went against them.

“You haven’t aged a day,” he assured, one hand holding open the wrought iron weather door while the other turned the knob of the exterior.

Ygraine guffawed with a toss of her head, the small peacock feather on her cap bouncing. “You’ve certainly gotten better at lying, young one.” She patted his lapel as she passed under the archway of his arm. “A man of nineteen you may be, but through my steward I’ll always see.”

He grinned as he shut the doors, making sure they were properly shut and then returned his arm to the Duchess’s on their stroll to brunch with the Duke. During their travels here, Merlin had grown quite fond of London in the morning, and it had become a mutual agreement between he and Ygraine to avoid the night.

Upon arriving at the restaurant, the Duchess handed Merlin her parasol and smiled at her husband striding toward her. He grasped her hands and kissed them both before he murmured, “My love, do you need to bring Arthur’s steward everywhere with you?”

“Merlin is hardly Arthur’s while our son is still in school, and he is a necessary help to me during our travels. Morgana and I will have great need of him while we are in Venezia. I have half a mind to make Arthur find his own steward.”

Uther sighed as he pulled out a chair for her. “If nothing else, do not place untoward tasks upon me, darling.”

Ygraine smiled and leaned back in her chair. Merlin obligingly bent at the hips to hear her murmur, “Get yourself something to eat and be back here on the hour. There are gardens next door and a delicatessen around the corner. The croissants here are dreadfully small.”

He nodded with a discrete smile. “Yes, mum.”

Sure enough, a croissant with jam was hardly worth three bites as he made his way to the small shop featuring a box of flowers over the door and cold sausages draped in the window display. A sandwich of parmesan, prosciutto, and German sausage filled his belly more substantially as he swung open the gate of the public garden Ygraine had directed him to.

_Good morning, Emrys._

_I’m in London, no funny business,_ he warned while chewing on a large bite and opening a book across his thigh. Wisteria blossoms brushed his shoulder and the bench was damp from a recent drizzle, but the sky was sunny and shined through the petals around him.

_Then perhaps you shouldn’t have altered your grimoire into a pocketbook._

True enough, the blue tome with its lightning fissures across the front was transformed to fold flat as a pancake and fit inconspicuously into his waistcoat pocket without loosing a single page. _I can now read without my eyes turning yellow,_ he informed. _We’re here visiting Arthur but I want to continue my practice._

 _Wise,_ the dragon approved, and then requested, _Is the sun shining? Describe it to me._

Merlin peeked around him. _It’d be better to just show—_

_Too dangerous. Let me see it through your words. What is it you’re eating? Tell me everything._

So he did, elaborating on the fragrance of the roses and honeysuckle and the savory juices of the meat and tang of cheese on his tongue. The heat of the mind he shared grew hotter, palpably seeking a stronger connection to experience the senses himself, but Merlin held him at bay.

_I must return. We’ll talk tonight if you want._

_Until then, Merlin,_ he agreed.

Tucking his book inside his pocket, Merlin swung the parasol beside his leg and jogged up the steps of the restaurant just as the Duke and Duchess Pendragon were standing from their seats. The academy was a long walk but the sun warmed the cool spring air, and soon they were striding through a brick threshold into a marble foyer with dark wooded paneling. The headmaster of the school was crisply dressed in black with a lapis lazuli cravat when he greeted them.

“My lord and lady, it is a pleasure,” he bowed slightly at the hips while shaking Uther’s hand. He kissed the air above Ygraine’s hand and added, “Would you like refreshments before you see your son? Arthur is scheduled in the yard at this time. I must say, he has gone from participating in the exercises to managing them altogether. He is quite a leader.”

Uther chuckled. “His energy could not be put to better use, then.”

“Please tell me he’s devoted at least a rational amount of it to his studies,” Ygraine quipped.

The headmaster’s eyes widened and then wrinkled around the edges. “My apologies, I meant to include this in my last letter but obviously I failed in this regard. Arthur has top marks in his entire curriculum. He will manage to finish two years early and commence his world tour if he would like.”

Merlin stared dumbly behind the Duke and Duchess. _Two years? There’s no bleeding way._

As if sensing his thoughts, Ygraine peeked over her shoulder and smirked. _Who would have thought?_ she chimed as he opened his mind to her.

 _Is there another Arthur here?_ Merlin countered, earning a snort from her. Uther peeked at her but reverted his attention to the headmaster.

 _Some people just need the right environment to grow,_ she replied, and then said aloud, “If he’s in the yard, why don’t you go see him? We will all see each other shortly.”

“Yes, my lady,” he responded curtly, leaving the three of them to ascend to the headmaster’s office. The outdoor gymnasium was not difficult to find; directly to the right of the foyer was a stone corridor running alongside a massive courtyard which was encompassed by the school like walls. The sounds of clanging wood, rubber, and metal coincided with shouts varying between boyish and baritone in pitch. Merlin scanned the area, observing games of football, cricket, cards in the grass, and on the far side was a gravelly area devoted to fencing and more medieval styles of combat.

Merlin made his way along the wall, out of the way and figuring Arthur would favor the methods of exercise he had grown up with—

“Get up, you lazy sod. Hold your damn shield up or your bones with break into dust.”

Merlin frowned at the muffled voice inside a helmet made of padding while a scrawny teenager scrambled to his feet. He hoisted up a shield that was obviously meant for someone thrice his size. It trembled in his fatigued grip, causing the older student to laugh. “Good god, is that the best you can do? All right, then.”

Merlin’s jaw steadily dropped the longer he watched the blatantly skilled fighter hack away at the shield and boy’s strength. The latter held his own reasonably well, considering, but when he fell to his knees and the sword continued to fall upon him, Merlin strode forward to stand in front of the shield.

“I think that’s enough.”

The arm paused in the air. The student threw the sword down so it landed hilt up in the gravel while the helm was yanked off his head. Blond hair was slick against his cranium wherever it wasn’t sticking straight up, but a sculpted mouth lifted to the side. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Merlin had not realized he had been grinning like a fool until his smile fell. “What do you mean what am I doing here? Your parents are here to see you since you stopped coming home for holidays.”

Arthur appeared to think that over as if he hadn’t seen a calendar in the last five years. The gravel rustled as the boy tried to rise back on his feet, but Arthur’s gaze swiveled and he shoved the boy down with his boot. Merlin rushed forward, stepping between the beet-faced boy and the hardly-winded Arthur once more. “What do you think you’re doing? That’s completely unnecessary!”

Arthur tipped his head to the side and glanced around to laugh with the other young men observing them. “It’s initiation. If he wants to play with the men he has to earn it.”

Merlin’s expression darkened with every word he said. “You were always a prat but when did you become an arsehole?”

Arthur’s smirk finally vanished as if it had been slapped from him. He tried to cast a laugh toward his friends but his wary gaze returned to Merlin. “You can’t speak to me like that.”

“And you can’t act like this,” the elder countered. “Your mother’s here. What would she do if she saw you like this?”

“She wouldn’t do anything because women aren’t allowed in here,” Arthur stiffened. “Nor are servants for that matter. Stay down,” he added as the boy once again tried to get up.

Arthur made to reach for his sword but Merlin’s arm simultaneously extended to block it. Arthur grabbed his wrist and yanked, spinning him around and twisting his arm behind his back, forcing Merlin to bend over in an effort to avoid his wrist breaking. The smell of sweat and leather permeated his nostrils, reminding him of ships and canons and Merlin’s other hand swung back to splay between him and Arthur’s torso. He felt the hot prickle of his eyelid wanting to blink protectively over his eyes, and firmly shut them, willing his irises to stay blue. Within a second Merlin felt himself bent double by the person he had least expected to make him feel vulnerable, and he was forced to remind himself that this was Arthur no matter how he preened himself for his friends. Just as he breathed for patience, for his eyes to simmer back to blue, he controlled the searing veins in his free hand to cool. Arthur could not feel it through his protective gear, but if Merlin’s magic grew any hotter, he might decorate the courtyard in blood instead of ringing metal.

“You told me once to remember my place,” Arthur breathed close to his ear, out of earshot of those around them. “Well I have. Remember yours. I’m Lord Pendragon here.”

There was a pause as if he was waiting for something, so Merlin whispered, “Yes, my lord.”

He was released with a shove. Merlin caught himself with a hard step that sent needles up his shins but he turned it into a long stride out of the courtyard without looking back. His eyes were still closed, not trusting himself to contain his magic more than he already was. He could see through his eyelids anyhow, and his hair was long enough to keep curious gazes from questioning how he made it back into the school blind.

No sooner had he turned the corner of the archway then Merlin pressed his back to the stone interior, angry and confused, and honestly disappointed. What had he been expecting? For Arthur to take one look and run to him like he used to?

_Yes._

He rubbed the pads of his fingers against his eyelids, feeling the burn of tears there instead of magic now. “I missed you, you idiot, and that’s who you are now?” he said to no one.

Quickly, he glanced down either end of the corridor and hastily opened his book, turning it to the deepest crease within the spine. He read, _Magic can sometimes behave like a muscle. It knots, it sprains, and it both eases and strengthens with help. As a partner can assist in stretching the body, so can it be done with one’s power. A creature of magic must be used for this. Water is most turbulent when contained in a wave; fire is most dangerous if confined in a room; even the earth breaks with too much pressure. Share your magic with another, and it will both ease and multiply tenfold._

Merlin swallowed thickly and peeked around for something to use, and found it in a vine growing in the mortar of the stone beside him. A violet trumpet flower bobbed gently until its reticulate venules flushed deep purple with his touch. The vine on which it grew thickened, causing mortar to fall and cracks to sprawl their way through the stone.

Merlin whipped his fingers away. It wasn’t enough. He could not risk imbuing his power in a petite plant and risk destroying the school by making the harmless vine take over the entire building. Having this problem in a renowned academy was bad enough, let alone in the center of a metropolis. Merlin ground his teeth together, once and for all stamping his magic and anger down inside him. What did he expect after five years? It had been Arthur's choice to not return during the summer and winter holidays. Merlin remembered overhearing Ygraine and Uther reading the letters during supper informing them of this decision. If this was who Arthur was now, he was not worth this lack of control, but far from feeling like he was controlling an explosion, Merlin felt like he was imploding, slowing fracturing from the inside out.

He moved his blue scarf out of the way to slide his book back into his pocket. Taking a moment to fluff the garment over his neck, he went to wait in the lobby for the Pendragons to congregate. Soon enough, the headmaster descended with the Duke and Duchess but they continued to converse until a wave of students passed through. Some were in a rush to reach their classes, others loitered for conversation, but another influx came from the direction of the courtyard, and in it was Arthur. Freshly bathed and wearing a crisp button up and crimson jacket over his slacks and polished shoes, he kissed Ygraine’s cheek and shook his father’s hand. Merlin remained where he was by the front doors.

He kept his chin lowered as he followed behind the family, halfheartedly listening to Arthur relay his version of getting ahead in his studies during the holidays. Merlin noticed Arthur had grown to stand half a head shorter than himself, and his blond tresses were now a shade darker than his mother’s; white and wheat tresses of silk contrasting with his robust gold.

“Where is Morgana?” he asked after a time.

“Your sister is feeling ill,” Uther explained. “Stomach aches and migraines have made her weak of late. Gaius is attending to her.”

“She will be well enough to attend Carnivale with Merlin and I, though,” Ygraine chimed. “We’re looking forward to it, aren’t we?” She cast a smile back to Merlin, who returned it automatically.

“Isn’t that the Italians’ excuse for debauchery and flagrance?” Arthur jibed with a cheeky smile.

“And the English don’t use the days surrounding Lent for the same purpose?” she returned. “I’m going to blissfully ignore what you school boys get up to during your time off.”

Uther laughed fully, obviously remembering his own days in the academy and only confirming the point she was making. Arthur, however, converted the thoughts back toward his mother. “Wait, why are you going to Venice? You don’t intend to wear one of those masks do you?”

She looked her son in the eyes and curled her arm with his as she said, “Obviously. I’ve already taken to having feathers in my hair.” She flicked the peacock strand bobbing over her hat. “Why not wear them on my face? It’s not as if anyone will recognize me.”

“That’s the point,” Arthur bristled. “Who knows what they might get up to with a stranger and no fear of repercussions?”

Ygraine guffawed jovially. “Good heavens, what are they teaching you in there? Italians are not so primeval as that. Besides, Merlin and I have been on a great many adventures together, and I have never once feared for my safety.”

Arthur cast a scowl back at Merlin, who met it with calm stoicism. “Maybe you should. He bends like a stale pretzel.”

Merlin’s gaze lowered to the flagstones, where one of them lifted to catch Arthur’s toe. The teenager vaulted forward, barely managing to catch himself before Ygraine toppled with him. Uther clapped his shoulder, asking if he was all right. Ygraine, however, looked back at Merlin with a stern but amused glare. He raised his eyebrows innocently. Arthur glanced around also, but in annoyance that Merlin had seen his blunder.

The day’s visit was short since Arthur had to return to his classes and Uther had meetings with parliament to attend. They said farewell to the Duke first on their way back to the school and then Ygraine pulled Arthur up short before he went into the building. “Say goodbye to your mother properly,” she ordered.

Arthur rolled his eyes but his sigh turned into a smile as he kissed her cheek in the middle of an embrace. “Take care of yourself, and Morgana. I wouldn’t count on _this_ one to do it for you. Is Guinevere attending Morgana?”

Ygraine confirmed that she was and meant to send a smile to Merlin but caught him staring placidly back at Arthur. She glanced between the two of them, reading the unusual hostility in Arthur’s glare as well as the blunt defiance in Merlin’s.

“You will be coming home for your birthday this year,” she announced.

Arthur’s attention locked onto her as if this appalled him. “Why?”

“It’s already been arranged with the headmaster,” she replied coolly. Merlin’s eyes slowly slid to her, recognizing the lie. “Besides, it will do you some good to return home once in a while.”

“My birthday falls during an exam period,” Arthur challenged. “Just send me my gifts like you normally do.”

“You will receive none unless you travel for them,” she finished. Her tone silenced him. He spent a moment wearing a rather familiar pout which was only broken by his eyes sliding toward Ygraine’s arm entwining with Merlin’s. “Have a delightful summer, my dearest, and for the love of dessert, _answer_ the letters I send you. See you soon!”

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to Merlin’s, who held them for but a second before he turned away and walked with Ygraine toward their flat. Agatha was on her way out for errands in the city so she held the door for them. “How is the family?” she chirped.

“Curious,” the Duchess responded, earning a puzzled look from the housekeeper before they continued on their separate routes. Upon entering the open space of their apartment, she plucked the pearl pins out of her hat, tossed it away, and asked, “What was the mood between you and Arthur this morning?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he answered easily.

She picked up her hat to throw at him instead. “Don’t lie, Merlin, it doesn’t become you. The pair of you were acting strangely toward one another.”

Merlin took a moment to pour lemon water for them before he said, “I found Arthur bullying another student. The ensuing interaction was less than honorary.”

Ygraine frowned. “When you say ‘bullying’…?”

Merlin gulped from his glass until it was empty. “He called it an ‘initiation.’ It looked like one boy sword fighting another who held nothing more than a shield to me.”

“Ah,” the Duchess nodded. “You haven’t been to school, or a place overpopulated with boys trying to be men, but that is generally how things play out. They create their own hierarchy and how to maintain it, therefore it would seem strange and barbaric to you.”

Merlin perked up from where he had poured another glass. “And it’s fine that he’s a part of that crowd?”

She shrugged while carefully combing her fingers through her hairline without unsettling her hair. “It is the price for his education. Even if his behavior is different with his classmates, he is ahead of his year. They can’t be completely corrupting him.”

Merlin’s expression did not lift from its frown, though. “Why did you insist he come back for his birthday?”

Ygraine had gone over to the kitchen and found a bowl of strawberries. She gazed at him from across the room with one poised before her lips. “Because you miss him, don’t you?”

He looked away to stare out over the city. “I don’t know.”

He heard her footfalls as she crossed between him and the wall of glass. She reached up to stroke the pads of her fingers beneath his eyes. He could hear as well as feel her slow inhalation, sensing her fragile ribs expand for the rustle of air through her nostrils. “The light has gone out from behind your eyes,” she murmured. “I want to put it back.”

Merlin did not know what to say to this, so he said nothing at all. The next day and consecutive days were devoted to returning to the Pendragon manor, where Morgana greeted them in the courtyard with open arms and deep circles around her eyes. Ygraine hugged her closely and so long that Merlin had both of the saddles off of their horses by the time she parted enough to cradle Morgana’s face. “You haven’t slept.”

Her heavy, dark lashes closed over her aquamarine eyes. “When I sleep I wake, and when I’m awake I almost feel asleep. I'm a mess.”

Ygraine smiled and pushed the ebony curtains away from her face. “But a beautiful and compassionate one, and that is the best kind to be. Do you feel well enough to travel?”

Morgana nodded eagerly and breathed, “Yes! I can’t stand this stone façade another minute. How was Arthur?”

She glanced between Ygraine and Merlin, the latter of whom rolled his gaze toward the sky. Morgana laughed sleepily. “He hasn’t changed much, then? That’s a relief.”

“Depending on whom he’s with,” Ygraine amended, but before she could explain to Morgana, she swept her daughter into the house for a hot meal and to start packing for the next adventure.

Merlin fell into a seat by the fire and accepted the bowl Gaius handed him. A small mountain of parsnips, beans, and duck rested on his spoon when Gaius interrupted, “Merlin, I have a request of you.”

His gaping mouth hung open until it reluctantly shut and he let the spoon fall back into his bowl. Gaius had never asked him for anything. Merlin waited for his elder to continue, “You found Morgana by Hadrian’s Wall, but did you ever ask her why she was there to begin with?”

Merlin thought back to that strange morning, to the fright and immediate relief of finding another person who sleep walked. “She said she had never walked in her sleep before…but she had done it during a nightmare.” His expression opened. “Has she been walking to the wall at night?”

Gaius shook his head. “No, but her sleep is fitful, more so whenever you are away from the estate. I have been wondering for some time if she has magic, and if being in proximity with you somehow appeases her power.”

Merlin considered this and whether he had read such a thing in his book before. “I remember wondering if she had magic too…but there isn’t a way for me to see if she has it or not. People able to use magic do not appear any differently than those who can’t.”

Gaius nodded his understanding. “Then I must ask you to keep an eye on her while you are abroad. Not so keenly as to draw concern from her or Ygraine, but from a medical perspective she may need calming teas, especially before bed.”

Merlin nodded his head in ascent and eagerly dived into his meal. He had second and third helpings while the sun’s rays changed the coloring of the room as it lowered toward the horizon. When the air was infused with the indigo haze of twilight, Merlin shrugged on his waistcoat and adjusted his scarf before extracting his book from his jacket and maneuvering around tables toward the door.

Gaius lifted his eyes from his medical volumes and inquired, “Where are you going this time of night?”

“You know where,” Merlin answered tersely, his hand on the door to leave.

Gaius fixed him within his firm stare. “Just because you do this voluntarily instead of in your sleep doesn’t mean you must go the evening you’ve returned home.”

“This is my choice,” Merlin countered, but not unkindly. He gazed at the old man across the room. “I’m going. Don’t wait up.”

“Take your coat, at least,” Gaius called, but Merlin was already out the door.

“I don’t need it!” his voice answered from a distance. Gaius leaned back in his chair, sighing long and heavy. He peered over his books without seeing them until a flicker of movement lifted his gaze to a brown moth fluttering out of the room in Merlin’s wake. He tolerated the moths since these in particular did not put holes in his socks and were quite lovely with their simple coloring, but mostly because he caught Merlin sleeping more than once with a moth or two on his shirt. Gaius had never bothered to ask what exactly made these insects special but it clearly had something to do with Merlin.

Gaius raked his long, weathered fingers through his hair. Merlin’s power stirred when he was asleep, attracting the winged creatures, which gave him reason to suspect his magic was rising now, beckoning the tiny confidantes forth… He glanced at the basket of laundry to be cleaned on the morrow, and the lengths of many scarves winding through it all. The old man’s chest rose and fell with another sigh. “Be careful, Merlin.”

The young man himself marched through the night, occasionally glancing at the last tinges of orange on the western sky. The journey passed quickly with familiarity, and soon he was entering the cave system beneath the green valleys. His glossy eyelids slid over his irises, blinking as his hand dragged across the stonework blazing with golden particles that burned blue where he touched. He reached the alcove that had almost become his permanent resting place, but which he had turned into a gaping hole into an onyx abyss.

He had long since rearranged the stone blocks of the wall into a staircase, which he descended now. As deep as he was in the earth, he traveled even lower, until the floor bottomed out and he navigated the gentle rise and fall of the uneven floor, the towers and spires of stalagmites reaching for chandelier stalactites—

Merlin felt a wave of heat encircle his body, a searing breeze as gargantuan movement surrounded him. Claws plunged into a large rock mound nearby, creating the only sound as the large pads of the dragon’s hands hushed his descent over Merlin.

 _Hello, Emrys._ His long body writhed gracefully in the darkness, glimmering with color, tricks of what little light there was as he eventually landed around Merlin one vertebrae at a time. The long tail curled around Merlin’s ankles as his snout loomed nearer. Merlin splayed his palm beside an orb of an eye, pressing the smaller scales and feeling the dragon’s flesh pliantly move under his touch. The murky depths of lapis lazuli lightened to a piercing shade of blue fringed with gold. _How fares young Arthur in his adventures of London?_

Merlin huffed a sigh and let his weight rock onto his heels to fall backward. The dragon’s tail lifted to lazily catch him and lower him to the ground like a makeshift lounge. His book rested on his stomach as he complained, “He’s being a prat as ever.”

That great head settled beside him while the dragon chuckled, sending bursts of hot air over Merlin. _How inconsiderate of him._

“But really!” Merlin exclaimed, pointing a finger to stymy the dragon’s sass. “The git doesn’t return my letters after he said he would! I’ve been waiting on a response for over four years! And then I finally go out of my way to visit him and he thinks being fourteen makes you a man!”

He finished with a growl and settled deeper into his scaly cushions. _You’re both embryonic to me,_ the dragon replied.

Merlin’s bright eyes glared at him. “You’re lousy council.”

Another burst of hot air sent Merlin’s hair reaching for the ceiling. He scrunched his face shut against it. _And you are preoccupied with the wrong things. How do you feel tonight?_

“But this could be a real issue,” Merlin countered and continued, “Replying to letters is a matter of etiquette and business. A duke needs to present himself well on paper as well as in person. He can’t beat people into submission like he does in the school’s gymnasium.”

 _Do you believe he does not know this himself?_ his companion queried skeptically.

Merlin’s gaze was directed toward the ceiling as he said, “I don’t want him to be reminded of it when it’s too late.”

 _Hmm,_ the dragon hummed, deep in his chest like a song. Merlin felt it vibrate through his scales as well as the air into Merlin’s skin. His eyelids drooped, comforted by the warmth and sound. _Then you will do right by him and save him from himself. Until then, answer me: how do you feel?_

Merlin’s lungs expanded to their fullest capacity before he exhaled, _“Restless.”_ The word escaped his lips as well as his mind, the denotation an all consuming truth.

_Then rise, young warlock. Asleep or awake, your magic will have its needs met._

Merlin curled upward, reluctantly rising from his scaly bed. He handled his book so it would not fall, but the dragon curtailed, _Put the words aside. Language is only as liberating as it is binding. This is a task of feeling. Know your power inside you, and free it._

 _I’m not sure how I can function in polite society without doing so,_ Merlin countered inwardly as he took a comfortable stance in the cavern.

 _‘Polite’ is a misnomer,_ the dragon refuted. Merlin lurched as its snout pushed against his torso, nuzzling possessively and unsettling the scarf with bursts of air. He successfully made the fabric unwind to show the dark scars on Merlin’s throat. _Why not remove these tonight?_ he asked as the scarf rippled to the floor.

 _Because I need to remember,_ Merlin said.

The dragon remained pressed against him a moment longer before he leaned away. _So be it. Proceed._

Merlin resumed his stance, comfortable and not too wide. He rolled his shoulders back, opening his chest for wider breaths. His eyes closed but he felt the dragon moving around him and peered through his flesh to see the colossal mass of seething gold and shadow moving around him while the blue globes of his eyes stared back at him.

 _Will you control it…if it becomes too much?_ he asked.

The dragon’s hot breath ruffled his hair. _I would never ordain to control you or your power, Emrys._

 _You know what I mean,_ he complained. _If it…if it takes control of me…_

A burst of sparks rained over the rock from the beast’s chuckle. _How many times must I remind you, sweet Merlin? Your power is yourself. Cease this underestimation of your control. For too long you have feared your abilities, and this has been your weakness. A man does not fear his horse, but instead shares a mutual respect and agreement with his steed. How is that spritely unicorn, by the way? Has her horn grown yet?_

Merlin sighed with a shake of his head. _Stay focused. And no, but I hope it never does, for Aithusa’s sake—waah!_

The dragon had moved behind him but now surged forth, causing Merlin to fall backward atop the dragon’s snout so his head rested between the beast’s eyes, like a pea in a soupspoon’s cradle. _What on earth do you mean, Emrys?_

For a split moment, Merlin attempted to rise but ultimately slumped in his place as the dragon carried him to deeper realms of the caverns. _What do you think? The stable workers would saw off an ivory horn and then kill each other so they didn't have to share the profits. I don’t even know what would happen to her afterward. Put me down!_

 _Get down yourself,_ the baritone cooed. His body rose and fell, rising and descending with the air currents as he bounded over the broken stalagmites with his wings unfurled. _Or do you like the feeling of air passing along your skin?_ he teased.

Merlin scowled, sending him a mumbled, _That’s not fair,_ since in their shared mental space, the dragon knew very well that Merlin enjoyed flying immensely. It was almost possible to forget they soared underground with so much space to roam.

His mount chuckled deeply beneath him. _This is why you struggle. Know yourself and know what you want, then no one can go against you. Otherwise your magic will take what it wants for itself. It hardly matters what position you’re in—let your power touch the breeze on your hair. Let it exhale from your lungs. You needn’t be standing for this. I will protect you, even if it is from yourself._

With a push from his mind, the dragon ushered Merlin’s eyelids closed. This was the worst part. Merlin felt a battle begin to rage within him as he fought to keep his breathing even. After years of holding his magic inside, it was as if his very skin was a steel cage, and he had to shred through it in order to let his magic out. But like a soup bubbling over, his power sought the cracks, surged toward the fissures and he struggled to keep it under control.

A rustle and crack sounded from above, and the dragon lithely swerved to avoid the falling stalactite. _I’m sorr—_ Merlin began.

 _Do not apologize,_ he countered. _Concentrate. Know yourself. What do you want?_

But more spires of rock fell around them while those on the ground reached higher, rearranging the design of stone teeth in the mouth of the caverns. _I don’t know,_ Merlin feared.

 _Yes you do,_ his mount urged, flying as if he was hardly bothered by the changes around him.

 _I don’t…_ Merlin began, but he flinched when an explosion of rock happened too close, showering sparks over him and burning spots into his clothing. Just as the embers touched his skin they glowed blue instead of orange, cool instead of hot on his thighs and shoulder. The sparks fell to the floor, where they struck the floor and rebounded like lightning, illuminating the cavern with flashes of light.

He did not like this. He hated this. He despised letting his magic out because it did things like this: made rocks grow and started fires out of nothing. Merlin’s eyes opened wide to stare at his trembling hands and the tiny blue threads of electricity crackling between his fingers.

_I don’t want to be afraid._

_Then take control, Emrys, and you will have no need of fear._

Suddenly the dragon halted in the air, rearing its neck back before a column of angry red fire surged from his jaws…and Merlin did not have to think anymore. He stood up on the great creature’s nose, arm stretched out, and claimed the fire as his own. Its ruby and citrine flames flushed indigo and lavender.

 _Yes, Emrys,_ he encouraged.

The flames remained in the air, a cloud of sapphire and amethyst that licked languidly at nothing. Merlin’s fingers closed in a fist, and abruptly opened, shattering the flames like glass. But as the particles fell to the floor, they fluttered and swooped like birds’ flight patterns. Blue butterflies soared past him, subtly kissing his cheeks with their wings on their way out of the caves.

The dragon laughed, _Such effervescence for romanticism. Try something new._

 _“I’m not here for your entertainment!”_ Merlin rebuked. _“You’re supposed to be helping me.”_

 _Butterflies are quaint, but hardly useful in most circumstances,_ the dragon countered. _It is best to not be predictable._

Merlin sighed, _“What would you classify as unpredictable?”_

_I don’t know. Surprise me._

Merlin glared down at him before flopping on his stomach between his eyes. Summoning the moisture in the air and dripping from the rocks, he gathered it and sent it between the dragon’s scales. A strange, deep mewl erupted from the dragon’s throat as he ungracefully landed on the floor and shivered as cold water seeped between his scales to his searing flesh underneath. _This is both refreshing and painful. You have my regards for ingenuity,_ he acquiesced, _but you forget our differences in scale._

 _“Scale?”_ Merlin repeated dumbly before he was thrown upward. His limbs flailed as he soared ever higher…and then gravity took hold. _“This isn’t fair! That’s not fair! I’m not ready for this!”_ he accused. The possibility of being skewered was a frightening reality as the ground rushed to meet him. _“DRAGON! DRAGON! HELP ME!”_

But then…he was not falling anymore. Or at least…the ground was rising much more slowly than before. Merlin felt something strong ripple through his spine—his muscles knowing what to do before he did. His body righted itself, and his feet touched the ground as time lurched back to normal speed. Merlin’s body rocked with it, his lungs expanding for air as if he had been sprinting uphill.

Chuckles reverberated around the cavern as well as in his head like thunder. The dragon descended over him, curling his body around Merlin’s restlessly, intimately but without touching him. _As I told you, cease underestimating yourself. You know your magic better than anyone, and it knows you. Only you can control it, and you should know better than to think it would let you fall._

Merlin felt the velvety tingle of electricity in his veins as it began to spark between his fingers. _“My magic and I agree how useless you are as a mentor! What the hell was that?”_

He threw a bolt of lightning that only bounced off the dragon’s forehead. The beast laughed and dashed away, twisting and circling Merlin, running from as well as chasing him and defending against the thunderstorm Merlin inadvertently created underground.

When the dragon swiveled his head to gaze through the haze of rain, cloud, and stone, he announced, _The sun rises._

Merlin was soaked. He lifted a sleek brow from where he sat on a rock wringing out his socks. _“Thanks for a restful night—coof!”_

Air was squeezed from his lungs when the dragon took him in a massive hand and shortened the distance to the wall’s entrance. Setting him carefully down upon the stairs, the dragon leaned in and blew hot air against Merlin’s torso. His raiment billowed and his hair stood on end, making Merlin feel like a black rabbit in a steam room, but he was mostly dry. Merlin summoned his scarf from the floor, catching it when it rippled up to his hand.

_Safe travels, Emrys. I will be with you._

_“We’re going to the continent,”_ he countered. _“I won’t be above these caves.”_

_I needn’t proximity to be with you, but all the more reason for me to share your thoughts. I will help you sleep._

_“Are you too proud to admit you’ll miss me?”_ Merlin teased while raking a hand through his fluffy tresses.

The dragon hummed deep in his chest and ever so gently nudged Merlin toward the hole. _You needn’t await letters from me, dearest Merlin. Even when you feel alone, you are not. Enjoy yourself, and return to me._

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the Mediterranean eye disappearing into the darkness of the hole. Despite not having slept a minute, he felt rested as he finished the trek home and passed through the broken wall of the estate. A brown moth batted its wings lazily as he passed by.

Even with the Duke and heir away, the kitchen was bustling with Cook’s frenzy to prepare breakfast and meals to take to London before they boarded their ship to Italy. Merlin plucked a berry off a large tart when she was not looking and ducked around the corner to Gaius’s rooms. The man was much as he had been when Merlin left him last night: at the table with his books.

His eyes peered over his spectacles a moment before he commented, “Successful evening?”

“As successful as it could b—” Merlin halted in the middle of his route to the porridge cooking over the fire. He rotated as if to find something he dropped.

“What is it?” Gaius observed.

“My book,” Merlin voiced, patting his waistcoat but feeling nothing in the pockets. “Shit! I left it—”

Dark laughter rumbled in his thoughts. Merlin’s hands dropped to his sides as fists. _You filthy dragon. I need that._

 _I feel quite clean after the washing you gave me,_ he sassed in return.

Gaius had stood from his seat the same moment the kettle fell from its hook over the fire, spilling pale oats across the floor. Merlin’s hand impatiently whipped through the air, sending the contents back into the cauldron and back over the fire once more, but the walls trembled, causing the drapery to shutter as books rattled from the shelves.

_I NEED IT!_

“Merlin,” Gaius spoke, his voice low but firm.

 _Temper, temper. It would be quite embarrassing for you to be dependent on fragile pages, wouldn’t it?_ the dragon taunted.

All of the books burst from their confines, as well as the pages within, so the air was a blur of crisp rustling and varying shades of paper and parchment.

“Merlin!” Gaius’s hands lifted to cover his head.

 _It is not my fault you forgot it,_ the dragon defended mildly. _Take it as a message from yourself: you don’t need it. What have words strung together by a dead hand ever done for you?_

Merlin felt his transparent eyelids slid over his eyes, pushing angry tears down his cheeks. _It calms me down! Why do you always do this to me? I’m not in some cave where my magic can just bounce around! You trick me into being comfortable but then out here I have to cage it all back inside! I’m not strong enough for this! I don’t have scales sealing it inside me—I have to do it on my own! I could destroy Venice! You don’t understand…you’re so inconsiderate to what could happen to me if the wrong person saw me…_

Around the throbbing hub of his mind, Merlin could hear the stone walls cracking around him. His own body heaved with the dragon’s sigh. _Perhaps I am impatient…for the man I know you are capable of becoming. Believe my words more than theirs, Emrys: you don’t need it. You never did. But until you trust yourself, I gave you a promise. I will protect you from yourself. A book is a learning tool, not a talisman._

Merlin felt the familiar engulfment of the dragon inside his mind, the overlapping and intertwining of thoughts, nerves, and sensations. He felt his rampant power ebb, siphoned from him to a beast more capable of handling it. Papers fell to rest on the floor, and the walls stood tranquilly around him. Merlin realized his eyes were shut tight, instinctively hiding his enflamed irises while his tears slipped free to race toward his chin. Opening them, he found Gaius embracing him and gently pulling his head down to rest on the old man’s shoulder. His soft fingers slipped under Merlin’s scarf to caress his nape, surprising him by how quickly the touches soothed his thundering heartbeat until he realized it was Gaius’s heart pounding against him.

“I’m sorry…I lost control—I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he murmured, closing his arms around the old man’s strong spine.

Gaius chuckled. “I only feared I was having a dangerous influence with my obsession of books for you to miss one so highly.”

Merlin laughed despite himself and buried his face deeper in the crook of the elder’s neck. When their embrace parted, Gaius pressed the backs of his hands against Merlin’s cheeks and forehead before sliding them under the scarf to feel the heat of his neck. Gaius shook his head, “I always worry for you when you run this hot. You feel as if you’re combusting.”

Merlin chuckled as the corner of his scarf was patted on the sheen of his forehead and temples. Gaius pivoted Merlin’s shoulders and steered him back toward the kettle of breakfast. “Eat before your magic consumes you instead. You’ve got a long journey ahead.”

Merlin ate enough for four men and ascended the stairs to assist Ygraine with packing, but she told him her maids were almost finished and sent him to help Morgana and Guinevere. The latter smiled when she opened the door and Morgana turned from where she gazed out the open window. “Does it bother you returning to London the day after you returned from there?” she teased.

Merlin took the gown out of Gwen’s hands to fold as he said, “I’ve grown used to the Ygraine’s desire to travel. I’ve read great things about Italy, so I don’t mind the haste.”

He bent to place the folded gown in the trunk, but then peeked at Gwen tidying the room before he rearranged the trunk’s contents for more compact storage. “What sort of things?” Morgana wondered.

“Lots of things, such as how they are as preoccupied with the gossip of their aristocracy as the English are. I like reading about how their mythology is still integrated in their modern festivals. I like how the old ways are still prevalent, in their own way, but mostly I can’t wait to try the food.”

His stomach growled audibly despite four bowls of porridge, causing Morgana to peek at him with a giggle. “Don’t say any more about food until I’m able to taste it. I can’t bare a hunger headache piling on top of this insomnia,” she added with her fingers pressed between her brows.

Merlin’s gaze perked up to observe her before he straightened and approached the window. “May I attend to you?” he asked before he touched her.

She nodded and turned to face him, closing her eyes as his fingertips plunged into her hair to massage her scalp. The pads of his thumbs rotated from between her brows and along her forehead, undoing the tiny knots of stress there. “The light may be adding to the pain,” he commented softly.

“Yes,” she admitted, “but I can hardly spend all day in the dark. I despise the dark.”

Merlin used his short nails to send tingles over her scalp and lightly tapped his thumbs over her forehead for gentle stimulation. “Are your nightmares dark? That’s why you stay awake?”

He could see as well as hear her swallow. “Yes…” she breathed. “But my dreams feel real.”

“Keep your eyes closed but look down,” he instructed. Carefully and slowly, he massaged the backs of her eyes through her eyelids. “Why don’t you ask Gaius for a sleeping draught? He can make one for a dreamless sleep.”

“He has before,” she uttered quietly, relaxing under his touch. “They do nothing, or my dreams are fiercer after I’ve slept without them.”

He frowned before he ventured, “What do you dream of?”

“You do not want to know.”

“Try me,” he pushed.

Her inhalation was shaky before she exhaled, “Ygraine’s mare…my dreams often start with the horse’s screams…of men beating her and chaining her down. I see…I see similar things happening to you, Merlin. I see awful things happening to you…”

His fingers paused as moisture slipped free of her eyelids. Without thinking, he enclosed her in his arms, earning a startled intake of breath from her. He rushed backward, “I’m sorry, it’s not my place—”

But she rushed to meet him, hugging around his waist while his scarf caught her tears. Merlin glanced at Guinevere who sent him an empathetic smile, her eyes sad for Morgana. He closed his arms around her once more, twisting slightly so their bodies rocked together. “I’ll help you sleep, my lady. You will be well rested by the time we reach Italy.”

“Ugh,” she huffed, jabbing his arm with her fist. “Shut it with the ‘my lady’. Are you not my physician? My friend for years?”

His chin ducked bashfully. “Yes, I am.”

She tapped the underside of his chin for him to lift his gaze. “Then shut up about it and take me to this marvelous food. I’m charging you with my care.”

He could not help but laugh as she strode more confidently across the room to change behind a partition. “It is my honor,” he replied, and then went around the room to gather the last things for packing. By midmorning everyone was ready and Merlin was consoling a livid Aithusa before departing. She kicked her front hooves against the door of her stall until the nails jumped a centimeter out of the wood and Merlin was forced to unlock the stall or else attention would be drawn to her strength. She all but burst from the cubicle and stomped around him.

“Hush! Hush, I know,” he tried to soothe. He reached out to her, offering the backs of his hands for her to sniff but she snorted on them and stepped right through them to thump her nose against his chest and bit his shoulder. “Would you stop? It’s not like I want to leave you behind! We’re traveling by sea, and you’d be miserable on a ship! I’ve already arranged for Gaius to look after you. You like Gaius.”

A snicker sounded behind him and Merlin peered over his shoulder at the older stable worker carrying in a pair of saddles. “Talking to the pearl again? If only horses knew the Queen’s English, then the blasted demon might do what the rest of us say. She is lively today.”

Merlin knew the man meant well but he scowled and turned back to Aithusa, who had by now eaten a hole through his jacket and shirt. He held her at bay by her nose and neck. “Stop, already. I’m coming back, and you can’t draw too much attention to yourself. I’m only a servant; I can’t guarantee they won’t send you away while I’m gone if you create a nuisance of yourself.”

She shook her white head and bowed it to press against Merlin’s torso with enough force to push him backward. He stroked her cheeks and kissed between her ears. They flicked against his face as he purred, “I know, I know, but I _am_ coming back. You’ll hardly notice I’m gone with all the apples Gaius intends to bring you.”

He dug into his pocket for a thick carrot as he said this and flattened his hand for Aithusa to eat from it. While she munched he moved her forelock aside to rub the indention between her eyes—

A gruff sound reached his ears, and Merlin glanced over at the stable worker observing them with an expression mixed with perplexity and skepticism. “It’s almost like she does understand you. That horse hasn’t been right since the Duchess brought her here. Women and shiny things…”

He shook his head and went back to work. Merlin frowned and stroked Aithusa’s shimmering coat as he processed the man’s words. Aithusa nibbling at the high waist of his trousers refocused his attention. “Oh good grief, come on. You need to run in the fields.”

She followed without a tether, repeatedly biting at his shoulders or nuzzling his hair. “I swear, if you bite skin, you’ll have more to worry about than no apples or carrots!” he warned, but she always managed to keep her teeth in check unless it came to cotton or tweed. She hopped gracefully over the broken estate wall and circled back around toward the pastures in the front of the estate. Merlin’s one-eyed horse met them at the gate while the other mares and stallions kept their distance.

“Hi, Atlas,” Merlin greeted as the horse sniffed the back of his hand and accepted the offered carrot. Aithusa rested her head on his back while he ate, but a bite to his flanks whirled him around and he chased her down the green hill. Merlin left them and hugged Gaius a final time in the courtyard before he climbed onto the seat next to the carriage driver. As they swayed down the drive along the fields, the two horses raced alongside the fence. Merlin peeked at the driver before he turned back to the horses with golden eyes. A gust of wind rippled across the overgrown grass and wheat, unsettling the moths from their daylight slumbers. Aithusa reared on her hind legs, shaking her mane amongst the sapphire butterflies and chased them across the fields.

When they pulled into an inn for the night, he felt a touch in his hair and looked at Ygraine who muttered, “It’s strange having a roof before we reach the city. Your hair is a mess.”

Merlin smiled and set the trunk he’d been lifting from the carriage onto the ground. “I daresay Gwen would not mind sleeping outside, but Morgana’s condition needs a bed instead of a pallet over rocks and twigs.”

Ygraine grinned while she rearranged his hair into something manageable. “I understand, and really? Guinevere is more a lady than either of us some days.”

Gwen perked up at the sound of her name, to which Ygraine explained innocently, “Nothing, dear, Merlin’s just saying nice things about you.”

He turned vacant eyes between then, looking to and fro with a puzzled frown before he continued unloading the carriage. When a breeze went by carrying a scent of jasmine with it, Merlin turned to meet Morgana’s gaze, and could read the worry in her eyes. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “It’s silly.”

“It’s not silly if it’s bothering you. What is it?”

She laughed nervously. “I haven’t had to switch beds in...five years or so? I’ve wanted to get out of that stuffy castle for so long and now I’m missing my bed of all things…”

Merlin’s shoulders shook with his mirth. “There’s nothing wrong with missing home. It makes the way ahead more exciting, and you feel safe knowing something’s waiting for you.”

Morgana scoffed and shoved his head to the side. “Stop being wise.”

That evening, the inn obliged by reheating the copious containers of food Cook had sent with them. After a day of travel and with full bellies, both Ygraine and Guinevere fell asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Merlin was in a room of his own, but the adjoining door stood ajar. A sliver of light cut across the opening from his window, the palest of blues and silver from the moon and night.

That skinny beam broke momentarily as the door opened, and Morgana rushed in, her bare feet padding over the cold floor. Merlin was awake, staring blindly at the silver and gold particles dancing in the air while listening to the dragon’s silken voice sing ancient melodies in his head.

“Your teas aren’t working,” she shivered as she dived under his blankets. He jumped with a muffled yelp when her cold feet touched his.

“Keep those on your side of the bed, my lady! But I thought not.”

She flicked his nose and giggled when his eyes scrunched. “Then why did you brew them?”

Merlin settled on his side to face her. “Well I wasn’t going to give you the hard stuff when a tea might have sufficed.”

“Hard stuff?” Her brows wiggled. “What might that be?”

His eyes wandered as he recalled from memory: “Well it’s not a mystery how beer puts men to sleep since the hops can be a mild sedative… _Lactuca virosa_ is a wild lettuce that’s used commonly…poppies, of course, but if you handle it wrongly then it’s dangerously addictive—”

“Oh _Merlin_ ,” Morgana hushed.

He gazed at her vacantly. “What?”

She pressed a fingertip to his forehead. “You’re so knowledgeable yet so incredibly dense. Does it mean nothing to you to have a woman in your bed?”

Merlin’s eyes darted between her luminous eyes and the open doorway. “If Ygraine and Gwen weren’t the ones on the other side of that door, you would have a scandal large enough to ruin your reputation…but you and Arthur used to have a habit of coming into my room at night.”

She giggled fondly, but he heard a tone of mischief in it. “I remember. Arthur and I would race down the stairs some nights when we discovered one another coming to you.”

The side of Merlin’s lips curved. “You did it on purpose to annoy him.”

“But of course,” she mirrored his expression. “He was so easy to rile up sometimes…but I didn’t dream when I slept in your bed.”

Merlin’s features opened. “How long have the nightmares been reoccurring?”

Morgana shifted her weight for a better position. “Since the night we both walked to the wall in our sleep. I wouldn’t have given any concern toward the rumors of it being haunted, but—”

“Don’t bother,” Merlin uttered, deadpan. “It’s not haunted by anything other than lizards.” A snort hotter than pepper tingled his sinuses and reverberated in his mind by the lizard in question.

Morgana laughed again. “I forgot you had a worse habit than I of walking there. What do you dream of?”

Merlin was unsure how to answer, and he took a chance with the truth. “Dragons.”

Morgana’s eyes glistened in the minimal light over her smile. “What journeys do these dragons take you on?”

Merlin huffed a laugh. “Not adventures, exactly, more like conversations. They’re lonely.”

“Why?” she wondered.

“Because all of the other dragons have gone.”

“Where?” she frowned.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess even dragons die.”

She gave him a look of disappointment. “It sounds like your dreams aren’t much better than mine. Is that why you’re awake?”

The hay in his pillow crunched with the shake of his head. “No, I don’t sleep much of late. Too many songs in my head.”

“I didn’t know you were a musical sort,” she mused.

“I know someone who is,” he admitted, “and he enjoys getting his songs stuck in my head.”

“Would I know any of them?” she wondered.

Merlin smiled but countered, “I doubt it. They’re very old.”

“Hum something,” she requested. “You have me curious now.”

Merlin closed his eyes, gently receding into the part of his mind where the dragon rested, lazily swimming through his thoughts while the physical wings stretched across the stone of the beast’s cavern. The membranes ribbed with cartilage and framed by protective bones fluttered, shaking out cramps while letting the air currents drift under them. Merlin’s chest felt warm as the voice rumbled underneath diamond scales. Fire and blood surged through his heart, contrasting with the tranquil, deep melody sung from the dragon’s throat.

Merlin felt the same tune in his own, the notes rising and falling like the breeze did when they flew together. The melody tickled his vocal chords since they were foreign but when Morgana’s eyelids began to sag and closed altogether, he continued to hum until her breaths were even and deep. He extended his fingertips and pushed a few strands of hair behind her ear, careful to not break her fragile sleep.

When the pads of his fingers brushed across her temple, her eyelids fluttered, revealing gold underneath.

Merlin’s hand froze, waiting for her dreams to move her eyes again. Within seconds, they did, but instead of blue and green irises, they were as bright as Merlin’s could be. He pushed more hair off her face; her dreams had a firm grip on her so she did not wake. Her brow furrowed suddenly, inducing him to press his thumb between her eyes and ease the tension there…

He did not so much as reach forward with his mind, but fell into her thoughts as one falls off a boat to get swept along with the current. The dragon’s songs were wrenched from him and he was overrun by fragments of a familiar castle. The corridors of Pendragon estate had been sliced and spliced with other parts of the mansion, like a broken memory piecing itself together. And it was…raining? Water cascaded from the ceiling like a storm, drenching Merlin as if he truly stood there. He looked over himself, felt his clothes suctioning to his skin and hanging heavily when he tried to move. He squinted through the rain, holding his hand flat over his eyes to see better but it was as if the sky was in the castle and he could barely interpret the other end of the corridor…

He looked in the other direction, and recognized the end of the hallway where Ygraine, Morgana, and Arthur’s rooms were. Merlin moved to stride toward Morgana’s room, but his steps halted to avoid treading over a lump in the floor—

Not a lump. A body.

“Arthur?” he exclaimed.

It was Arthur…but it wasn’t. Morgana had last seen Arthur as a boy, and that was the face which peered up at him, but the shadow of the body was large, as if her mind was trying to rationalize his growth over time. But more was wrong. The rain fell over him, soaking him through and created a deep puddle around Arthur. His blond strands wagged lazily on the water’s surface as Merlin’s hands searched his chest. When it did not rise and fall with breath, something in him wanted to make it move, so he pushed, and a stream of water leaked out of Arthur’s waterlogged lungs.

Merlin leapt back. This wasn’t Arthur. Arthur was off being a prat at school. This was not him, just like how it could not rain in a building. But Merlin felt himself fighting for these thoughts while the rain soaked his skin, the carpet squished beneath his feet, feeling so incredibly _real._

The door of Morgana’s room opened, and Merlin went to it, only to be bombarded by sound. He was no longer in the Pendragon mansion, or even indoors, but a street made of uneven stones with a canal before him and a bridge arching across it. He jogged up the stairs, cresting the bridge, and nearly slipped on the uneven steps on the other side.

“Morgana, couldn’t you at least dream of proper architecture?” he grumbled.

But then he rounded the corner and realized she was dreaming of Venice. The buildings opened to reveal the source of the noise: the piazza was full of people dressed in varying degrees of celebration. Costumes of silk and velvet flowed all the way to the ground, trimmed in fur while full and half masks glittered in the torchlight. Merlin peered up at the sky, which looked to be caught in either dusk or dawn.

Merlin recognized the Basilica on the opposite side of the piazza, but next to him was a stage erected for the octet doing their best to be heard over the commotion of a few hundred people. Merlin looked around, trying to find Morgana, or anyone he recognized through the whirling silks, colors, and removable faces that were passing from one person to another, no one’s identity certain...which might have been nightmarish in itself but his eyes kept lifting to the clock tower, almost daring it to fall over these hundreds of people. If Morgana’s dreams were only nightmares, then something larger must be happening—

Merlin was preparing to enter the Basilica when his attention diverted to his right, where the piazza extended like an L toward the lagoon and sea. A cluttered row of gondolas was thumping and bobbing with the tide…but the water was lapping over the edge of the city, ebbing and flowing its way to the people’s feet. Merlin glanced around at the totally ignorant bystanders, reveling in their twilight masquerade while the acqua alta slithered around their ankles and black clouds bloomed on the horizon.

Two columns marked the entrance to the city from the water. As Merlin walked through them, he peered up and saw a winged lion on one and a man on the other: the symbols of Saint Mark and Saint Theodore, the patrons of Venice. His gaze dropped once more to the storm growing in the distance. Its smaller, grey clouds eclipsed what little sunlight illuminated the piazza. Merlin stood on the edge of the city, squinting at something darker, tiny but still prevalent on the horizon…

If he had blinked he would have missed the flash, but the boom of a canon joined it several seconds later. Ships were doing battle miles away, and in the worst of conditions. What would be worth the risk of sinking during a storm?

Merlin looked down, and realized he was perfectly dry. It was such a change from the deluge in the castle that he could not help but notice how he was standing _on the surface_ of the water, while everyone else splashed through it. He took another step forward, and then another, and then he was running, sprinting across the lagoon, past the islands, and the battle grew larger and Merlin realized it was not two ships, but two thousand. Ten thousand, he could not tell. Merlin ran until the rain pelted his face and lightning skittered across the water next to him. Canvas sails thwacked and snapped in the wind, shuddering _wap wap wap wap_ uselessly.

Another canon blew over his head, causing Merlin to duck and cover, but this steered his eyes at the water below, oddly illuminated as if the sun had taken its place in the depths, and he saw a myriad of sea creatures as the result. Sharks swam like cats pacing for a meal. An octopus darted under one of the ship’s hulls while a vicious snapping yanked Merlin’s head up in time to see one of the main masts crashing overboard, spearing the water while the sails dragged it under the waves. But Merlin’s eyes widened and his jaw gaped dumbly as tentacles as thick as the wood itself lazily rose out of the water, a much larger octopus entwining around it and pulling it the rest of the way under.

He ran around the ship and found himself stuck in the middle of chaos. Canons were firing iron as well as chains and chemicals back and forth, making it hard to breathe. Merlin could barely see except for the orange of fire and the white of lightning—

And in the great blue mass under his feet, was a splash of red. Merlin looked under himself, and found Arthur floating just beneath the surface. A wide plume of crimson writhed around him, a cloak tied over his shoulders.

Merlin frowned, because this time, Arthur was not a hazy shadow caught between being a boy and a man. This Arthur was fully grown, clear and beautiful in stark detail. And he was dead. Red other than his cloak was fluttering like ink out of his chest, pouring as if directly from his heart.

“No…” he mumbled, crouching over the water. This didn’t make sense. Why was Arthur even here? Why was he dying again?

Movement in the corners of his eyes jerked Merlin’s head left and right, where sharks were circling. A rush of surface tension from something larger lifted the water to his left.

“No,” Merlin uttered, firmly this time. This was wrong. All of this was wrong.

A shark came close enough to move the cloak, bump Arthur’s leg, and Merlin started beating the water with his hands.

“No! NO!”

Arthur was trapped beneath it, and it would not yield. As much as it held Merlin up, it barred his path. The water splashed against the hulls of ships around him, taunting him while Arthur was just centimeters away, but entirely out of reach. He began to sink lower while the flow of blood became nothing but a thin line of red. Tiny bubbles passed through his lips until there was nothing at all. Merlin felt rain soak his hair and slither over his nose to fall into the sea, but he felt fire in his chest. His breath fogged in front of him as he continued to beat his hands bloody against the water, splitting his knuckles as the veins in those fingers began to glow with magic.

“NO!”

The water cracked like ice, and Merlin fell.

He collapsed back against the pillows of the bed, his breathing erratic and loud in the silence of the night. His eyes darted to Morgana scrambling out of bed, scuffling across the floor until she pressed herself in the corner of the room beside the window. Her eyes were flickering between yellow and turquoise.

“I’m sorry!” she huffed, inhaling as raggedly as he was. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to! It’s the dreams! I can’t stop it! I should have gone back to my room, but I would only hit Gwen instead!”

Even in his fatigue and shock, Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Huh?”

Morgana was burying her face against her knees, muffling her words. “Why do I have these dreams? Sometimes they make me thrash--I can’t bear to hurt anyone! I’m sorry, Merlin! I didn’t mean to hurt you! I didn’t mean to wake you, and certainly not like that!”

“Wait, wait, wait. No, Morgana,” he hushed, fumbling through the sheets to climb out of bed. “You didn’t wake me. You didn’t hit me. I broke—”

She was not listening. “All I do is hurt people. What if I begin sleep walking again? I can’t dream like this and walk at the same time! How many people will I harm?”

The candles on either side of Merlin’s bed bloomed as if someone had lit them. The gas lamp mounted beside the door grew with light as well. Merlin waved his hand, sending a gust of air around the room to stop the fire hazards. “Morgana, please listen to me!”

He knelt beside her, trying to coax her out of the corner and into the moonlight, but she shoved him away. “I don’t want to hurt you!”

“You can’t hurt me,” he declared softly. “Look at me. Look at my eyes.”

Her head shook. “I’m disturbed, Merlin. There is something wrong with me…”

“There’s not a thing wrong with you,” he rushed. “You have magic. Look at me.”

Her breaths came to a halt, and she stared through the curtains of her hair more out of curiosity than belief. Merlin reached forward slowly, trying to sooth her fright and moved the hair out of the way as he let his magic rise into his irises. Her own eyes widened as she beheld the rush of gold, and in them Merlin recognized the same terror he had experienced all his life; the same anger and utter feeling of loneliness. “You’re just like me,” he whispered.

And then Merlin saw hope rise to the forefront. Morgana lunged toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. Merlin fell onto his rear but caught her and held her tightly while she cried against him. He murmured sweet confidences into her hair, “I’ve got you. You’re fine. I’ll help you sleep. I broke your nightmare. You’re not alone,” until he meant to stroke a hand through her hair, but his eyes locked on his bleeding, split knuckles and the excruciating pain throbbing in his hands; the injuries inflicted during a dream...

 _That, my dear Emrys,_ the dragon announced, _is the power of foresight. I suggest you keep a very close watch on her._

Merlin could see and feel magic stitching his injuries back together, but he swallowed thickly, dreading what such dreams could mean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the story is slow but things officially kick off at the end of next chapter so please and thank you for staying with me! <3


	6. The Thing About Masks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I post chapter updates and progress teasers on my tumblr (Link should be in end notes)

Much like the first time, Morgana fainted with Merlin’s voice in her ears and his fingers in her hair. He carried her back to the bed where he continued to let her sleep on his chest while he swatted her nightmares away. The following morning saw them the rest of the way to London, where they conveniently boarded the ship without delay. That evening Merlin was standing beside the railing, staring into the water when Morgana crept up on him.

“Oh!” he startled, clutching his chest and clamping his eyes shut. The last thing he needed was to turn the ship into a beacon.

Morgana giggled and offered him a mug of something steaming. “I’m sorry. Does the sea frighten you? I’ve been told this helps with sea sickness.”

Merlin sniffed mead in the stein she gave him. “Too much of this and it will cause the sickness.” Nevertheless, he took a sip and relished the sweet heat warming his throat and belly. “I haven’t the best of experiences with the sea.”

“How many would that be? I know you’ve traveled with Ygraine but I didn’t think most of it was overseas.”

His head tipped in acquiescence. “She enjoys the winters and springs in France but I usually slept during the journey. It only takes a night to get there.”

“I see,” she responded, but something in her tone caught on Merlin’s ears.

“Was there something else you wanted to ask?”

He watched as she gulped half of her beverage before answering with a husky laugh. “I feel like I’m racing with Arthur again.”

Merlin huffed a breath. “Except he’s off being a prat. I’ll help you sleep, you don’t have to ask.”

She came closer so she also leaned against the railing. “How do you intend to do that?”

Merlin glanced at her, expecting to see mirth but instead found genuine doubt. “You…you don’t remember last night?”

She blinked as her brow furrowed. “Of course I remember it. I thrashed in my sleep and thoroughly ruined your night.”

“No you didn’t,” he interrupted, and then added warily, “You didn’t see or feel me in your dream?”

She clearly had not. “Merlin, speak plainly. What are you saying? That you could enter my mind or something?”

“Well…yes,” he relinquished. “I had no right, I know, but I wanted to stop the nightmare, and I was swept up in the events instead. I didn’t think of what my actions would mean, especially when I broke through the dream. It must have been incredibly painful for you. If you hit me, it was my own fault.”

Morgana processed his words, and for a while they silently watched where the stars kissed the water. “Is that what magic is, then?”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “No! No, it’s never supposed to be a breach in privacy or underhanded or…no, I didn’t mean—”

She pressed her hand into the layers of fabric over his chest. “Hush, Merlin. I’m not angry with you, but I am trying to understand. I thought the things Uther did were because of ignorant bumpkins who believed hollow superstitions. I did not think magic was anything more than an easy ending to a story… I’d always thought Uther’s actions were callous for people who could simply be educated instead of punished, but now it seems…did those people deserve it?”

Merlin watched her as the breeze lifted the loose curls off her shoulders. For all the years he had flinched at Uther’s actions, or traveled away from them entirely, Morgana had been there to watch it all. “No, they didn’t deserve it. Most of them are usually looking for a home or a means to feed themselves. The actual practice of magic has had very little to do with it.”

“Why haven’t you done something?” she wondered, catching him off guard. He coughed on his mead as she elaborated, “If you have magic as well, then you understand how ostracized they must feel. Not everyone has a place to hide like you and I do.”

He smiled, appreciating her sentiment. “To be honest, I haven’t had the time. Between working for Gaius, traveling with the Duchess, and working on my own powers, I haven’t the spare moments or the experience to help others with their own.”

Her mouth opened, ready to refute his words but then her gaze softened as she thought over it. She seemed to resolve herself and continue, “But you recognized what I am and have already helped me through a night. Whatever experience you have, it is enough to help others, and you are positioned in one of the most powerful families in Britain, in the world, really.”

“Morgana,” he intercepted. Merlin leaned off of the rail to stand at his fullest beside her. Morgana’s words rang too similarly to a song he had heard from a different witch’s lips several years ago. He gestured between himself and her as he said, “This is as close as I will ever come to your stature. You have already debuted as a Duchess and could marry into any family you wanted.”

She blew a raspberry. “Like whom, the Windsors?”

But she fell silent when he grasped her hand with the lightest of touches. “My lady, in the world we live in now, just this is a punishable crime.” He removed his hand. “I may stand next to you, but others will see you and not me. I may speak, but unless it comes from your lips, I will either be ignored or seen as dismissible from my post. I do not agree with Uther’s methods, but I cannot disagree with him entirely. Magic users are outnumbered, and their flaw is how they are violently clinging to their old ways. I’m not saying it is right to push modern ideals and concepts over them, to squash a culture far older and one that has just as much if not more right to exist than any other, but some measure of adaptation is needed. The simple truth is that Uther and all those like him are not going to be the ones to do it, but those with magic are behaving the same way. When nothing bends, the result is destruction.”

Morgana listened to him with open ears, but her voice pleaded, “Have I walked into the start of a war? Was it better to believe that my nightmares were the result of neurosis instead of magic, which is another matter we need to discuss, but save that for later.”

Merlin chuckled as she finished, “What is the point of having magic if I can’t do anything with it? If I will be torn from my family and others if I be myself?”

“I never said you can’t do anything with it,” Merlin countered, none too smugly. He peeked around them and then pointed overboard, down to the water. “ _Let me see you,_ ” he whispered in a quiet tongue.

He heard Morgana’s gasp as a dull light bloomed under the water, just enough to make a thousand shadows visible as fish and small jellyfish swam or bobbed under them. A pod of porpoises jumped out of the water, splashing and playing while water hit them from the other side of the ship. “Oh!” they exclaimed and shivered as a whale’s fins arched out of the water before vanishing.

“What did you say?” she giggled, wiping seawater from her eyes.

“I just asked to see them,” he muttered, wiping his face with his scarf.

“Was it a larger welcome than you were expecting?” she teased.

“These things are usually larger than I ever plan,” he admitted, dumping the rest of his mead overboard since it was more salty than sweet.

“Can you teach me?” she inquired. Merlin froze, staring dumbly at her.

“I haven’t the first idea how to instruct what I can barely control.”

“What do you mean?” she laughed merrily while wringing out her hair. “You just exhibited a good amount of control.”

“The language makes it easier,” he detailed. “If you say exactly what you want, it funnels your power to do exactly that. Obviously I didn’t specify clearly what I wanted to see, otherwise we still might be dry.”

“Never mind that,” she tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Teach me what you know and we’ll learn together.”

_Say no._

_What? Why?_ Merlin exclaimed.

_No sorcerer or sorceress who only foreboded ill times proved a loyal ally. It is best to keep her powers ignorant and unused._

_It’s not like she chooses what dreams to have! This is Morgana, not Nimueh._

The dragon growled deep in his thoughts, rattling his skull. _Another witch you failed to take proper action with._

“Merlin?” He blinked, realizing he was staring at her and saying nothing. “Are you all right?”

_Heed me, Emrys._

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised, ignoring the heated sigh in his head. “Let’s get inside for now. Ygraine would be upset if I let you fall ill.”

Without thinking, he placed her hand on the inside of his elbow and began leading her below deck. She could not help but laugh, “If it is such a crime, you’re very good at committing it.”

He smiled bashfully. “I’m not very good at doing as I’m told.”

She met his grin with her own. “I’m glad you’re not.”

Guinevere must have heard them speaking since Morgana’s cabin opened before they reached it. “My lady, I’ve warmed your nightgown and the blankets for you.”

“Thank you, Gwen. I’ll see you later, Merlin?”

He bowed slightly with his nod. “If you have need of me, my lady, I will be up for some time with Ygraine.” Then, he reached outward with his thoughts and added, _If you will allow me, I’ll watch over your dreams._

Morgana’s jaw dropped to the floor until Merlin sent her a mental image of what she looked like and she hastily recovered. “All right then!” she chimed, wearing a giddy grin and Merlin had a feeling she was going to spend more time chattering in his head than sleeping tonight.

Gwen stood perplexedly watching her range of emotions before she disappeared inside of the cabin, leaving Gwen and Merlin alone. “She seems happier,” Gwen commented. “Much better than before.”

“Quest accomplished, then,” he smiled.

“What were you saying to Ygraine about me?” she asked suddenly.

Merlin stared like a fish. “I didn’t say anything. I’m not sure why she said I had—well, I wouldn’t have said anything bad. Your name just came up in passing.”

“Oh, I see,” she nodded. “Passing how?”

Merlin wasn’t sure how to say such a simple conversation point other than, “We were talking of sleeping outside…and how you wouldn’t mind…”

Her brow furrowed. “Ah. Charming.”

“I don’t mean that we’d cast you outside,” he hastily salvaged. “I only mean that we’ve slept outside before instead of searching for an inn. We might’ve done so again if Morgana didn’t need the sleep and I thought you wouldn’t mind…Ygraine said you were more of a lady than she or Morgana.”

Gwen blinked wide with shock and then laughed anxiously. “I’m not—why would she say that?”

He shrugged. “You’ve attended every lesson on courtesies and poise with Morgana. It’s only natural that you would be as well mannered as a lady, I suppose. A title is just a title, after all. It isn’t much unless you act the part.”

Guinevere’s chin tipped to the side. “There have been many kings and lords who were terrible but were able to be so because they were kings and lords.”

“True,” he acquiesced. “I guess I like to think differently.”

A smile teased at her lips. “It’s kind, but the same privilege isn’t extended to servants.”

He gave her a sly smile. “Isn’t it, though? Servants without the manners of lords and ladies are not allowed in the company of aristocracy. Right this moment, we get to explore with our duchess. Just because the highest look down on us, does not mean we are without privilege.”

She barked a laugh, pushing his chest before yanking her hand back. “You think highly of yourself,” she teased.

He shrugged again. “Someone has to.”

Her smile fell. “You’re…you’re a very multifaceted person, Merlin.”

He picked up her smile. “It is a blessing and a curse. Would you share a glass with us?” He turned in the direction of Ygraine’s cabin.

Guinevere’s eyes lit up, but then she remembered, “I ought to see Morgana to bed. Another time?”

He nodded and waved goodnight. It was not a long trek to Ygraine’s door, but when he knocked gently her voice called for him to enter almost immediately. Her smile was warm. “How are you this evening, Merlin?”

“I’m well, my lad—” His eyes locked on a vase of flowers so far gone their heads hung downward, dried to crisps.

“Pitiful, aren’t they?” Ygraine mused. “Whoever placed them there had good intentions but clearly forgot flowers are only as strong as the person tending them.”

As he came closer, he could see the discoloration in the dried blossoms, but at the faintest touch of his outstretched hands, moisture surged back into them. The petals lifted, almost reaching for more of his touch as the stalks flushed a rich green. Ygraine chuckled behind him. “I rest my point. I doubt the salt in the air will bother them now. You needn’t fill it with water,” she added when he reached for the pitcher.

“Why not?” he wondered.

Her fingertips traced her eyebrow as she smirked at him. “You know the flowers you first gave me all those years ago are still thriving on my windowsill. Are you really so surprised at your own abilities?”

Merlin realized his mouth was agape and shut it. “All I do is touch them.”

“Stop boasting and come over here,” she jibed. He gave her the incorrigible look she liked so much as she laughed and removed the pins from her hair. She leaned back against the table where a washbasin was already waiting beside two glasses and a bottle of wine. Merlin’s hand closed around the spout and the cork wriggled free on its own before he poured an equal amount in both glasses. He swirled the contents in a glass to catalyze the breathing and handed it to her as he worked water through her tresses. Using one hand to support her head, Merlin poured her jasmine hair soap and then massaged it into her scalp.

His eyes caught on her empty glass and he paused to refill it while venturing, “Is something bothering you, my lady?”

“Just pain, love. Nothing extraordinary.”

“Cramps again?” he guessed. “This is the third time this month. Have you not bled yet?”

Wagging his hands to rid them of water and soap, he searched for the thin, firm pillow they used for a heating pad in her luggage. Usually a flexible metal sheet inside could be warmed by the fire and inserted within the cushion, but he rubbed it vigorously, his magic taking over the friction to warm it in the span of seconds.

“Thank you, sweet heart, but I don’t bleed anymore,” she answered offhandedly when he exchanged the pad for the water.

Merlin’s hands paused in the air, water falling freely from the pitcher over her hair and into the basin. “I didn’t think you were old enough for that.”

Ygraine laughed, holding the pillow close to her lower abdomen. “Some people age faster than others. You ought to be careful; you sound like an old man sometimes. It’s like I am talking to Gaius.”

“I am his apprentice,” Merlin reminded, not unkindly. He spared a moment to drink from his glass, the light sweetness of grape greeting his tongue before the tang of the wine overpowered it. His tongue involuntarily clacked against the roof of his mouth. “Your tastes have evolved.”

She laughed, “Italian wine is stronger than what we are used to. We must train ourselves or else we’ll be an embarrassment to England.”

Merlin gulped another mouthful and huffed a laugh as warmth rushed down his throat. “We’ll be passing through France and the Alps, first.”

“Mmm…” she hummed, lulled by the drink and relief. “A unique corner of Europe; where the black forests of Germany meet with France, the Swiss, and then Italy and all its Grecian and Oriental influences. We’re bound for an interesting blend of culture.”

“We’re just passing through,” Merlin reminded. “We should be in Venice in a less than a fortnight.” When Ygraine hummed her acknowledgement, Merlin added, “I think you would never return to England if you could.”

He paused in order to support her head as she laughed. “If I could take Arthur with me, you’re absolutely right.”

Merlin’s nails languidly massaged her nape as he tumbled that through his head. “Why don’t you?”

Her eyes opened but her answer was not immediate. “Because a mother spending time with her son is seen as coddling.”

Her brows lifted when Merlin snorted, “He’s expecting to make a tour of Europe after his studies. What’s the difference between doing it then or now?”

She smiled as he eased her into an erect sitting position, towel drying her hair. “He is expected to make that journey on his own. Of course this means you will be going with him.”

Merlin buried his mirth in his shoulder so he did not jostle her. “I’m not sure that qualifies as him traveling alone.”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” she elaborated. “Whether the cost of a good education is worth my son losing himself to the social pressures.”

Merlin found the conditioning oil as he said, “If you’re hoping my company will set him to rights, I would not count on it. He was more than willing to remind me that I was out of place.”

“What?” she rotated fully, causing him to quickly unwind his hands from her hair so they did not pull. “You did not tell me this. Remind you how?”

“It wasn’t worth mentioning, my lady,” Merlin shook his head, but Ygraine fixed him in a glare he had only seen once before.

“Merlin, you know the destruction of not speaking up when necessary, especially when it concerns yourself. What did my son do to you?”

He blinked, rapidly weighing how much to reveal. “He forcefully removed me from the training yard, nothing more.”

Ygraine scoffed, reading him like a book. “You’ve never let Arthur lay his hands on you before.”

He laughed nostalgically. “Usually he was aiming a javelin at my head. We were surrounded by young lords, barons, and Arthur was possibly the only duke in residence. I wasn’t about to raise myself over his station.”

A smirk began to filter through her features as she sighed and leaned back once more. “You’re too bloody good at your job, Merlin. You see everything far more clearly than anyone gives you credit for.”

“Except you, my lady,” he finished, returning to finish off her hair. “Gaius once told me the greatest challenge would be to have intelligence when my master does not, and to put it plainly, Arthur’s an idiot.”

He caught her mid-sip, and she coughed wine until he rubbed her back and the heaves switched to giggles. “Then you must be ever diligent,” she said through watery eyes. “His mind may be corrupted, but his heart is pure. Remember that, and I shall always entrust him to your care.”

“Oh joy,” Merlin finished. She hit her glass against his and the night ended with them waking up on France’s shores the next morning. They spent the early hours walking off their sea legs with croissants and jam before they boarded a train to a transfer line on the edge of Germany. As the terrain of tall pines gave way to peaking Alpine mountains, the Pendragon coterie wiggled their way through the cramped corridor of the coach to their compartment. Ygraine entered first, followed by Morgana, but the train lurched to the side, throwing Guinevere and Merlin against the corridor window.

“Oomph!” she exclaimed when he caught her. “S-Sorry! Are you all ri—”

The train swayed again, and this time Merlin braced his arm and held her instead of them colliding with the compartment doorframe. “Yes, I’m fine,” he smiled.

“Here, dear,” Ygraine offered, taking her hands and guiding her to her seat. Merlin shut the door behind him and heaved their traveling bag to the rack above their heads. When he unconsciously looked down, however, Morgana was watching him with a keen smirk on her lips as well as in her eyes.

He frowned. _What?_

 _Don’t ‘what’ me,_ she rebuked. _You like her._

_Who?_

_Oh, Merlin,_ she sighed, physically placing a hand over her eyes. Puzzled, he let the matter drop and returned to the corridor to reach the dining car. As he shut the door behind him, his eyes diverted to a pair of shoes standing next to him. When his eyes swept upward, he found the older man ogling him with a shocked sort of fascination. His fluffy white beard hung below weathered skin, but the whiskey irises were bright and ageless. Merlin did not realize the man was reaching for a handshake until their hands were clasped and Merlin’s entire arm was wagging.

“It’s you, yes? It’s you, such an honor, my lad. _Emrys._ ” His head bowed, but not before his eyes shimmered gold.

“Erm, a pleasure, but I’m just going to the dining car.”

The man smiled warmly, shaking his head as if he was absolutely beside himself. “Of course you are, ‘course you are, _for Ostara,_ yes.”

Merlin peered at him, unsure if this was a language barrier or a misunderstanding. “For Carnivale, you mean.”

The old man’s eyes widened. “Yes, yes, the Italian carnival, but the bloody king of Austria made it illegal at the turn of the century for a reason, you know.”

No, Merlin didn’t, but the old man prattled on, “When it comes to pageantry and merriment, people hardly pay attention to rules. I have a feeling this year, the law will be different. Christian and pagan will dance together—one won’t know the difference behind a mask.” He winked. “We’re all excited. I myself haven’t been out of my village in three decades!”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His eyes flashed yellow again. “Because we have a reason to be merry. There hasn’t been a gathering of this kind since…”

He actually pulled a comb from somewhere in his coat and began pulling it through his beard, but Merlin curtailed, “Never mind. I’m sorry, but I must be going.”

“Beg your pardon, of course. The dining car, right. An honor, Emrys, just an honor.”

Merlin watched him continue through the coach, humming under his breath and completely unbothered by the quick meeting and quicker ending, but Merlin turned once more to his desired location and shook the encounter from his thoughts.

Well, he would have, if eyes were not peering out of the windows of the compartments as he strode by. Merlin felt the weight of their stares and ventured a peek into one of the windows, and met the yellow stare of a little girl, the tip of her nose flattened by the glass. When he reached the door out of the carriage, he looked behind him and found a couple heads ducking back into their compartments.

 _Was there an announcement that I’m on this train or something?_ he wondered inwardly.

 _Probably,_ the dragon answered.

_I’m being serious._

_As was I. You’re not exactly an unknown character in magic’s inner circles._

Merlin grumbled underneath his breath, earning a curious look from an elderly woman draped in furs sitting at the bar. The man behind it looked up with a welcoming smile, but Merlin had frozen in place. _Don’t tell me they’re all going to Italy because…of me?_

 _Magic attracts magic, obviously,_ he scoffed. _When planets revolve around a star, the ball of fire is rather hard to miss._

“Can I get you something?” the bartender queried.

Merlin blinked and answered for a bottle of water and glasses while he thought, _I’m literally a beacon for trouble,_ Merlin translated as he accepted the items from the bartender. _Delightful._

The treatment back to his seat was much the same, if not worse, than before. Merlin had the suspicion that people were wandering the train just to catch a glimpse of him, to pass him with a nod and a spark of light in their eyes. When Merlin reached the door of his compartment, he glanced back to find a handful of people blatantly poking out of their own cubicles. _You know, if you’re going to an outlawed festival, discretion is golden._ The heads disappeared and he shut the door with relief.

All in all, the trains were pleasant journeys. The rocking of the carriage made sleep easy and the views out of the windows was picturesque even in the worst of spring showers. Their final leg of the journey was an easy ferry from the mainland of Italy to the islands of Venice. Even in the early hours of dawn, the narrow winding streets were being filled with the bustling crowds, so when Merlin heaved the last trunk up the stairs to their flat overlooking a small piazza, he collapsed on top of it with finality.

He opened his eyes when he felt a poke and found a square of fudge being offered to him. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you exhausted before,” Ygraine mused.

“Three women are hard to carry for,” he replied, sitting up and munching gratefully on the sweet. “Is it true the King of Austria placed a law against Carnivale? There are too many people here to arrest.”

A puzzled expression formed on Ygraine’s face before she realized, “Oh, that king. Yes, but as my husband has demonstrated, a law is only paper unless it is enforced.”

Merlin stopped chewing, his mood visibly deflating so quickly it caused her to do a double take. “What have I said?”

He shook his head, swallowing the fudge. “It’s something I should have thought on more over the years…of course you knew what Uther was doing…that’s why you took me under your wings so quickly, to protect me.”

Ygraine exhaled slowly, fingering the open box of fudge on her lap. “Are you disappointed with me? I wouldn’t blame you. I haven’t much by way of wings.”

His lips curved but the mirth did not reach his eyes. “I spoke to Morgana of the benefits to being a Duchess as opposed to a servant, but I suppose there isn’t much of a difference in the company of a duke. I always thought the person you love should be the one who gives you wings, not the person who clips them.”

He inhaled, exhaled, and when Ygraine’s reply still did not come, the epiphany of having said something incredibly inappropriate struck him. Merlin startled, his jaw dropping to apologize, but he only met her raised hand. “Don’t apologize. You’re right. You’re right…and you’re the only person who would ever say such a thing to me.”

Her chin slowly rotated away from him, but not before he had seen why. Merlin had never seen her cry before. “I shouldn’t have said it, my lady,” he apologized quietly. “You’ve done more for me than I’ve ever deserved. I’m sorr—”

The pads of her fingers suddenly halted his words, her watery eyes on his. “I said to not apologize. I value your intelligence and honesty more than anything else, Merlin; more than your powers, or your uncanny ability to steal under Cook’s eye...”

But for only having a square of fudge for breakfast, Merlin’s appetite had vanished. “You’re thinking I’ve observed too much,” he deduced, “and how I shouldn’t voice it.”

She surprised him by laughing and tapping his nose. “And _that’s_ how I know you don’t abuse your talents by sneaking around my head. You’re so brilliant yet so clueless about certain things.”

He sighed. “So Morgana tells me.”

“Because it’s true,” she giggled. “Listen.” Ygraine’s knees pivoted toward him and she grasped his hands. “I won’t say my marriage with Uther Pendragon has been continuously full of love. I was smitten in the beginning and he has rekindled my affections over the years, but more than once I have made the choice to stay with him for two reasons, both of which revolve around our son. A divorce would overshadow his entire life, no matter his accomplishments, and Arthur needed to see two parents blissfully in love, cohabitating as man and wife should. So many children do not have these qualities in their lives. We made the mistake of not providing him with enough friends growing up, so now he is being swept away by the ones he has. This will reflect in his professional life as well, for the better and the worst, but he will know what it means to treat his wife well. He will know what it means to love… Why do you look displeased?”

Merlin was not aware he was wearing an unhappy expression, but now that it was being addressed, he could not deny his sentiment. “It’s just…I haven’t much of a better experience with parents, but I feel like it’s a lie. If your happiness was outweighed by troubles, then Arthur would have learned the troubles of love. Arthur may be impressionable but we all are in our own way. What Arthur isn’t, is blind. Nor was he deaf to yours and Uther’s struggles.”

A long silence ensued, so long Merlin nearly reached forward with his mind to see where her thoughts had caught. Then, one of her hands lifted and cradled his face, her thumb stroking under one of his eyes. “I know you watched Hunith’s loneliness, and my disagreements with Uther could not have helped matters… What I am trying to say is…well, I’m saying many things at once and it is difficult to pick them apart.”

She smiled warmly and pulled him in to kiss his forehead. “An argument does not always mean a loss of love; sometimes, it is just the opposite. And just because one grows comfortable being alone, does not mean they are destined for loneliness. Let’s leave it at that for now. We’re in Venezia. Let us be a part of la Carnivale, where as soon as we adorn these—”

She urged him off of the trunk they were sitting on and rummaged through it for a parcel he did not remember packing himself. Ever so carefully, she removed four masks, one of which she placed in his hands. “—Merlin, Ygraine, and all their troubles will be left behind.”

The grin pulled at his face as he gaped at the long-nosed mask in his hands. “Who did you bribe to make these?”

“Gaius,” she chimed, holding the baton of her own mask to her face. Her blue eyes went nicely with the sparkling silver of its lace and feathers. “He can be quite crafty when given the right encouragement. He thought it quite the jape making a _medico_ for your mask.”

Merlin smirked under his half-mask, although the long downward slope of the beaklike nose provided almost full coverage of his face. It was painted black with gold lace pasted around the eyes and down the beak.

“Are those for us?” Morgana gasped, returning from her room and handing Guinevere a faded purple mask the color of lilacs. Morgana’s was not merely a mask but a headpiece entirely. With Ygraine’s help, the amethyst mask covered her eyes while costume pearls draped past her temples to disappear in her hair. Floppy, pale blue feathers that matched her eyes arched back over her scalp while a jewel dangled over her forehead. She was marveling at her reflection when she caught Merlin trying on his own. “If we have any nuts to crack I’ll be sure to give them to you,” she snickered.

The mask dropped to his hip, revealing a mirthless smirk on his face. “It’s not a bird, it’s an actual doctor’s mask…although it didn’t do much.”

Morgana’s hand lifted. “I’ll survive without the historical significance. Let’s go outside! I already hear music playing!”

“Just a moment, we need to eat a meal first,” Ygraine hindered. They ate quickly and rushed outside, where people were already dressed in variations of flowing silks and damasks with masks of all kinds. Most wore their masks on their heads, out of the way until the festivities were in full force this evening. The day passed quickly with Morgana and Gwen beholden by vendors’ whittled trinkets and sparkling shawls, while Ygraine and Merlin ate just about everything they came across. Night descended on them finishing a bowl of black pasta, made from the squid ink in the sauce.

“Let’s go!” Morgana ushered, impatient to reach the Piazza San Marco; the center of the festival. The narrow streets created a tunneling effect except for when they were crossing over the canal bridges; bursts of space and calm that contrasted with the bustle of urbanity in the streets.

“Oh, Merlin,” Ygraine chided kindly. A handkerchief fluttered out of a hidden pocket of her skirts and dabbed at the saucy ink splatters on the white of his cravat over his black dinner jacket. He looked down, the beak of his mask poking her hand while Morgana ushered them further until she rushed on ahead. Merlin circled an arm around Ygraine’s waist to keep her safe from the stuffy crowd around them. He waved Guinevere ahead to stay with Morgana, whose long wavy tresses swished around the corner.

Merlin blinked, his eyes darting between the familiar corner of the building and the canal above which he stood. He and Ygraine were quickly bumped and nudged off the bridge with the crowd but the familiarity of their location was unmistakable. Morgana’s excitement clouded her memory of her nightmare, but when they turned the corner, and the piazza opened wide for them, Merlin was living a moment for the second time but with more clarity.

More clarity equaled thousands of lanterns hanging from the terraces and the covered promenades. Paper, metal, porcelain alike were crafted with exotic cutouts so the light played over the windows of the Doge’s Palace in a myriad of colors and geometry. Such light bounced off of sparkling masks while torches danced toward the sky, the fire weaving in the air as people walked passed, as if to follow after them.

It was spectacular and marvelous, so much so that it took several moments for Merlin’s ears to process the music after his eyes had accustomed to the sight. A line of tables under the covering of a walkway seated a man strumming enthusiastically on a guitar, whereas in other corners of the square sheltered different ranges of music. Merlin felt himself laughing. If this was how the Venetians reacted to an outlawed festival, he might like to spend more time here after all. 

Gwen appeared, struggling to separate the crowd to reach them. “Over here! Look at this!” The light of a violet lamp splashed across her lilac mask, creating a rich sheen of amethyst and chocolate on her skin while her eyes gleamed a rich, rebellious amber.

Ygraine looked at Merlin, who knew what she was thinking without even peeking inside her mind. Years of experience and knowledge of a woman who appreciated art enabled him to know that she was finding Guinevere stunning, even more so by her unabridged excitement. They exchanged smiles and he curled her arm around his elbow to further split the crowd. They followed Gwen across the large piazza, and for a moment it appeared they would enter the Basilica, but they veered right and before them was the sea. In the distance the horizon was flanked by land but the lagoon shined with vivid pastels of pink and purple. The piazza was swathed in night but right here, crowned by two pillars, was the last rays of a majestic day.

Merlin’s eyes swept up those pillars to the statues atop them. He let magic see through his eyes, and the columns bloomed with gold, only to stop at the very top, where the statues were. In one figurine, a crocodile was a poor representation of a dragon the man slew—one of the patron saints of the city doing his heroic deed.

But Merlin knew a person of magic would never do such a thing. Ironic, how the city which glittered for his eyes alone, was crafted from magic but placed those without it on a pedestal...

On the other pillar, however, the winged lion glowed. Merlin could not help but laugh under his breath. Magic always protected its own, even when it was forgotten. Maybe once the pillars represented the meeting of two sides, magic and man, but with the man slaying a dragon, the meaning came across as more of a warning than a welcome.

“The traders’ gate,” Ygraine narrated beside him. Her gaze observed him before she also looked up at the oxidizing figurines. “Beautiful.”

Merlin’s eyes had dragged over the horizon, where clouds gathered to reflect the sunset but there was not a storm in sight. The only boats were gondolas bobbing tranquilly in the water; no ships, nor canons in the distance…

Ygraine’s hand on his arm stopped him when he stepped forward. He looked at her inquiringly, and she explained, “It’s bad luck to walk through them.” She nodded up at the columns. “Public executions used to happen here.”

It was then Merlin noticed how people were indeed giving the pillars a wide berth. His eyes fell on Morgana on the either side of them.

Then a great crash startled the whole square, causing Ygraine to give a dignified yelp beside him as Merlin’s hand reflexively curled into claws. The skin of his fingers and palm blossomed with heat before he saw a man dashing across the piazza, the same man in fact who had been playing the guitar.

“My my,” Ygraine giggled behind her mask as they watched him disappear on the other side of the Basilica. He was laughing but the middle aged men huffing after him were less enthused. “I wonder whose daughter he bedded and didn’t wed.”

Merlin’s mouth crooked up to the side as he shook his head. The only problems were too much alcohol and too much merriment, and that was all right by him.

His other arm was claimed by Morgana, who chimed, “I thought the point of masks was to avoid punishments.”

On her other arm stood Gwen, who passed a smile to Merlin as Ygraine laughed, “Don’t get yourself carried away, my love. Now, where do you think these Italians are hiding their wine?”

Everywhere, in fact, and not so much as hiding but more so handing it out by the bottle. Ygraine earned cheers when she was given a bottle without a screw and managed to uncork it by padding the bottom in a layer of her skirts and beating it against the wall of the restaurant they had entered. The cork wriggled free and there was minimal spillage but arms went up in an uproarious applause.

“Red or white?” she offered Merlin, who knew she preferred white and accepted the red. Bitter, garnet fluid washed down his throat, warming his belly while his tongue sang with a tangy sweet aftertaste. Morgana and Gwen shivered with their first taste but the second gulp went down more smoothly.

“Care to share a glass, my friend?” a man’s voice greeted him, and Merlin turned to face the guitar player of all people. He pushed thick, dark curls off his face by setting his mask on his scalp, a lattice of wires that did little to hide his identity but accentuated his sleek nose and long lashes. He already held a glass at the ready, and Merlin obliged by filling it with red.

“What happened to your instrument?” Merlin inquired, not without a modem of sass.

The man grinned cheekily, a slight sheen of sweat visible from either running or alcohol, but the sharpness in his eyes proved the former. “The bastards broke it. I saved my ducats for two months and it took a week of planning to pinch it off the bloke who was making people’s ears bleed with it.”

Merlin knew he must have been smiling, because the man’s grin widened when their eyes met. “You’re English.”

“Ay,” he extended his other hand. “And what a joy it is to speak Her Majesty’s language again. I’m Gwaine.”

“Merlin,” they shook and Merlin likewise adjusted his mask to the top of his head so his face was visible. “Why were you saving your money if you stole the guitar?”

“Rules of life,” he explained and counted off with his fingers, “Always leave the home with a smile, know good wine from bad, and the truest lover is an instrument in your hands.”

“Romantic, but that doesn’t answer the question,” Guinevere pointed out.

Amber eyes fell on her and Gwaine’s features transformed from the mild challenge to the epitome of charm. “You’re absolutely right, but can I have your name first, my lady?”

Merlin had never seen Gwen’s eyes so large but she recovered quickly. “I’m no lady. I’m Guinevere.”

Gwaine was not fazed. “You bear the name of a lady and smile like one. The thing about masks, they trick us into being who we really are.”

One of his fingers grazed over her cheek before he reached for the vase of flowers on the table. “Everything is in a smile. Never undervalue it.”

He carefully extracted a lilac sprig from the bouquet and arranged it in the braids of her hair holding her mask in place. “Guinevere…” He said her name reverently, yet so casually it segued into his next statement. “I was saving for a guitar when I happened upon one in the wrong hands. I’m hardly the scoundrel you think me to be.”

Gwen laughed enough for the blossom to bob over her hair. “What a kind savior you are. Couldn’t buy your own bottle, though, could you?”

Merlin was in the middle of sipping from his glass but he met Gwaine’s dumbstruck look with a smirk that verified he was doomed. 

Ygraine salvaged the situation by handing over her wine bottle to Gwaine. “Not to worry, here’s my gift to you. Don’t drink it all in one hour.”

Gwaine caught her hand and kissed its back. “The true savior is you.”

She grinned and maneuvered from the table, causing Merlin to leap to his feet and catch her outside. “You’re leaving, my lady?”

“I’m afraid so,” she apologized. “My age is catching up to me. I don’t feel as if I am missing anything, though, and I think the city will thank me for not adding to the number of bottles to clean in the morning.”

Merlin clearly moved to walk her back but she splayed a hand on his lapel. With her other hand she pointed up to a cluster of windows. “Our rooms are just there. Wait until I turn on the light if you want, but I want you to stay here. Enjoy yourself and make sure Guinevere and Morgana come back with you. After a full day, I don’t mind missing the night.”

She leaned in to kiss his temple and continued on her way. Merlin did wait until light bloomed behind the curtains of her window and even looked through the walls to make sure she was alone in the flat before he went back into the restaurant. Gwaine had not moved from the table and was talking animatedly with Gwen and Morgana until he saw Merlin. Grasping both of the ladies’ hands, he swept them from the table and caught Merlin before he could sit down. “Don’t sit, the fun is out here!”

“Where are we going?” Morgana laughed musically, grabbing Merlin to make sure he kept up.

“Well,” Gwaine admitted, “considering I owe the barman a few ducats, anywhere but here.”

“Now he tells us,” Guinevere chided, but not without mirth.

As Gwaine lithely divided crowds for them to run through he defended, “That scoundrel was cleaning a boy’s pockets when all he was eating was bread and cheese! I won’t stand for a man charging a youth the price of the finest wine when he’s serving cheese meant for rats.”

Before he could help himself, Merlin peeked into Gwaine’s mind and nearly fell right in because his mind was wide open. More astonishingly, Gwaine was entirely true to his words. The barman had seen a boy wearing barely more than rags and given what he asked but charged triple what a regular patron would have accepted. Gwaine had in turn given the boy back his money and tripled it, much to the barman's displeasure. Something about that flushed warmth into Merlin’s belly, and with one hand carefully holding the neck of his wine bottle and the other around Morgana, he took the lead.

“This way,” he said, not truly sure where he was going but more capable of getting them there with a quickness.

His gaze jerked upwards when a bright red light soared across the street, followed by a _BOOM_ and _crackle._

“Are those fireworks?” Gwen exclaimed.

“Starboard, ho, sir!” Gwaine directed, and Merlin veered right. Through narrow and narrower streets they traveled until they had to duck their heads and squeeze through the narrowest of alleys before they broke into a piazza, much smaller than San Marco’s but it just as crammed with people. In the center was a covered well which functioned as a platform for the fireworks to shoot from. One of the corners of the square was acutally a canal, and in the distance glittered the lagoon. Gwaine released Gwen in order to pick up the spare guitar beside the musicians playing on the steps of some lord’s villa. They had since forgone their glasses in favor of drinking directly from their bottles, as many people had if the dark shapes floating in the canal were any indication. In the corner of his eye, Merlin saw one of the musicians hand Morgana and Gwen tambourines and rattles to play along. 

But Merlin spilled red all through his cravat, dying it a permanent merlot when dozens, maybe even hundreds of eyes locked on him, all gold.

Something akin to panic infused him, rattling his spine so he shivered almost violently, the feeling of being trapped too familiar and too encompassing—

Until a figure emerged from the crowd and lifted his pale mask: the man from the train. He smiled, and reached for him. “ _Buona sera, dolce Emrys._ We’ve been expecting you.”

Merlin felt himself stepping forward, unsure why, but drawn inexplicably to him. Other hands lifted, all reaching for him, their fingers relaxed and not flexed into claws. The man’s jovial voice bubbled with laughter. “A mask meant for healers but one which dealt in death. Let us be who we really are.”

Soft, strong fingers placed his mask back over his eyes, but magic shot through the flesh of his face, jolting Merlin as it sank into his bones and dripped down to his feet. He felt the mask change form, the silk and plaster shifting so the metal frame latticed across his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, and brows. He felt something crawling over his scalp, through his hair until it dangled past his shoulder blades…

The old man knelt with a single palm lifted, the same hand he had touched Merlin with. The others stood as if waiting. Merlin looked past their expectant smiles to the windows of the buildings around them, and realized what they had done. His mask was no longer a doctor’s, but the visage of a dragon. The top half of his face fit snuggling to the scales that were gold, black, and shimmered with varying greens and blues in the light. Long black feathers and gold threads draped behind him like an ornate crown, but more than that, a fan of magic splayed behind him. To the naked eye he wore a spectacular headpiece which left his jaw bare for drinking and speaking, but to golden irises, a dragon flew atop him, _was_ him.

The man’s palm was still lifted, waiting. Merlin did not know what this meant, but a deep, primal knowledge took him. He let this urge move his own palm to the man’s, extending his fingers along the weathered ones, and the old man’s chin lifted. Merlin realized he was wearing a mask akin to a wolf’s face, fringed with white fur that blended with the soft fur mantle on his shoulders.

He took a step, and Merlin mirrored it, so they revolved around each other before switching sides and palms. Cheers went up as they danced, ricocheting around the piazza with shattering force. Moved by the music, Merlin switched hands with whomever he met, revolving with them until it came time to change partners again.

He felt alive. He felt something entirely foreign and beautiful when he realized he was not paying attention to whether his eyes were gold or blue. He felt wanted. Accepted. Known and adored.

He came alongside the musicians on the stairs and lifted his bottle with Gwaine’s in cheers. The former set it down and began a quick melody on his guitar the same time Morgana flew down the stairs. “Where did you get that mask?” she demanded. “It’s beautiful!”

Instead of answering, he swept her away in the dance. Somehow the crowd knew how to move synchronously, weaving around the well until the crescendo of Gwaine’s song hit and they clapped along with their hands, feet, and heart beats. Merlin saw a cluster of men around the well trying to light a new set of fireworks, but with hardly a gesture he moved them aside, and the fuses lit from his command. Far from the streaks of color they were meant to be, the fireworks combined a hundredfold to form a great beast above the rooftops. A dragon roared at the stars, mirroring Merlin’s grin of unadulterated glee before it shot across the clouds, fusing out.

The song ended. Whether the people applauded for the music or the display, he hardly cared. He looked to Morgana who was not looking at him, but at the man in white. Instead of the smile he had so readily given Merlin, his lips were parted in a look of stern contemplation, as if he was waiting for something but completely unaware of what was coming. His fingertips were already on Morgana’s mask, and Merlin watched it change much as his had, but in a completely different way. The amethyst and sapphire tones of hers remained around her eyes but were fractured with an acidic green and black. The fake pearls of her headpiece fell and rolled across the stones under their feet while thin, black horns, like the mottled spires of a wrought iron crown pushed past her forehead to rest on her scalp. The soft feathers burned off, like the fuses of the fireworks. Her new mask was beautiful. And menacing. A broken, sooty version of what is once was.

 _That doesn’t suit her at all,_ Merlin wanted to say. The words were on his lips, but those clear brown eyes met his, and Merlin knew enough of the world to recognize fear when he saw it.

“How does it look?” Morgana queried. Merlin blinked, and the man was gone. Her voice was full of wonder and interest, waiting for his response.

The trained smile pulled up his mouth. “It’s different than anything else here,” he said, hoping it came across as a compliment.

Her fingers carefully lifted to inspect it. “Are these—oh! Is this a crown?”

 _More like a weapon than a crown,_ Merlin caught himself wanting to say. “Yeah, of sorts.”

He swayed backward when her arms were thrown around his neck, hugging him tightly. “These are our people?” she wondered in his ear. She withdrew and he saw her eyes were moist despite her blissful smile. “I don’t want this night to end.”

With sudden clarity, Merlin agreed with her. Pulling her back, he kissed her forehead where the costume gem had once dangled between her eyes. “I don’t either. So let’s fight the sunrise.”

Her voice sang out with glee as a new song began. Morgana still had her tambourine while she danced around the square. Merlin returned to the stairs where Gwaine was taking a break and gestured to Merlin’s red cravat. “Had a little accident there?”

“Is it that bad?” Merlin chuckled.

Gwaine shrugged. “No, mate. I never would have known if I hadn’t seen it white first—careful, dove!”

Guinevere stumbled on the steps to join them and found an excuse to sit between Merlin and Gwaine. “Sorry,” she giggled and set her bottle down with finality.

“Giving up already?” Gwaine chimed but he rubbed her back consolingly. “How are you feeling? Without a tolerance, Italian wine can turn you inside out.”

“Hmm…” she purred, laying her head on Merlin’s shoulder. “Just warm.”

“You stopped at a right time, then,” Gwaine murmured, raising her bottle to examine its contents; not quit half empty yet. He drained the last of his own alongside Merlin and they chinked their empty bottles together before sharing Gwen’s. “We ought to get this maiden home. Where’s Lady Morgana?”

Merlin found her easily on the other side of the well, where one of the firework handlers was lighting a fuse and saying something to her. Her eyes glowed as the firework burst between her hands, but instead of burning her the sparks flapped like wings and a green bird flew away from her.

“I think she can handle herself for a while,” Merlin decided.

“Up we go,” Gwaine narrated as he helped Gwen to her feet.

“You’re very kind,” Guinevere thanked, and then steadied her footing. “I can manage.”

“So I see,” Gwaine confirmed, visibly impressed. “When I was a lightweight I didn’t know what a straight line was.”

She turned remarkably clear eyes on him. “Were you ever light?”

Merlin snorted as he handed the bottle back to Gwaine, who looked as if he was battling between amusement and insult. “Where is it you work again? Are all the maids as sharp as you?”

Merlin answered for her. “Well if you count Cook along with them…”

He met Gwen’s wide eyes and together they doubled over laughing. Gwaine complained about being out of the joke while Merlin guided them to the door of their building. Gwaine kissed Guinevere’s hand in farewell and announced that he was getting two more bottles for himself and Merlin while he got her settled in.

Ascending the stairs, Merlin unlocked the front door and looked through the wall to make sure Ygraine was sleeping soundly before he turned around and caught Guinevere before she fell. “Not as steady as you seem?”

“I have my pride too,” she chided.

Merlin laughed breathily to keep quiet. “I doubt Gwaine has never seen a drunk woman before.”

“Not him,” Gwen corrected. “Why did you kiss Morgana?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed and he realized he still wore the mask. Tossing it onto a chair, he said, “I didn’t, at least not on the lips if that’s what it looked like. Just on the fore—”

Guinevere rocked up onto her toes and kissed him square on the mouth. This close, she smelled gently of wine, lemons, and the night, but Merlin was too frozen to really appreciate it.

She landed harder on her heels than she meant to and gazed up at him with groggier eyes. “I…I’m not sure why I did that…but I like you, Merlin.”

Merlin, however, was still caught between _fore_ and _head_. “I like Venice,” he blurted.

She blinked and then giggled. “I do too. It seems anything can happen. Meet an exciting stranger. Kiss a friend. Who knows what comes next? Goodnight, Merlin.”

He stood dumbly in the room until her door shut, and then shook his head as he descended to the street. Gwaine was standing against the building with the two bottles already uncorked and ready. A small, knowing smile played at his lips. “You’ve just been kissed.”

Merlin did not even try to hide it, and instead queried, “How can you tell?”

“A rule of life I strategically left out,” he explained, “Know when a woman is not interested. She’s had her eyes on you all night, and I remember that kiss-shocked expression very well. Come on, I know a place by the piazza so you can watch over the Lady Morgana and still relax.”

They made their way back in the direction they had come, all the way to the square in fact, except Gwaine sidestepped into a pair of open doors into a restaurant of sorts. Platters of pasta mixed with various forms of seafood filled the air with aromas that had Merlin’s stomach growling. Gwaine expertly haggled their prices down before Merlin dived into a bowl of scallops and noodles that could fill an entire pot.

It wasn’t until Merlin was nearly finished that he looked up and saw a woman whose dress was barely hanging off of her shoulders that he gaped and Gwaine supplied, “Oh right, this is a brothel.”

“Why’d you take us to a brothel?” he exclaimed.

“They have the best oysters in town, and rooms are remarkably cheap,” Gwaine stated as if this was justification enough. “Don’t worry, I’m not the type to buy a person, but if you—”

“No! No, I’m fine,” he curtailed.

Gwaine laughed and nudged his shoulder. “Prefer nuts to roses? Aw, Gwen will be shattered.”

Merlin was trying to figure out what almonds or walnuts had to do with flowers as he finished his pasta and noticed a pair of clear green eyes looking at him from the other side of the room. A young man with strawberry hair smiled as his eyes flashed gold. He couldn’t have been older than Merlin but the freckles on his nose matched his hair in the ambiance lighting. The youth waved him over and Merlin dropped off his bowl on his way over to the table. Gwaine was preoccupied with entertaining a number of unemployed ladies so he hardly noticed Merlin gone.

“Buona sera, Emrys,” the boy greeted, bowing his head with an extended palm when Merlin approached.

“You don’t need to do that.” Merlin grasped his hand, causing the youth to gasp as he moved the hand away. “Just Merlin.”

In a thick accent he smiled, “Just Emrick, then. You are an Englishman? They told me you were foreign, but what does this mean in a large world?”

Merlin settled on the bench opposite him but he suddenly waved his hands urgently. “No! Please, sit next to me.”

So he stood and came around the table. This close, Merlin could see how the candle and lamplight splashed his hair with rose gold. “Tell me about England,” he requested.

“What do you want to know?”

“Is English food as bad as I hear? You mash your vegetables and curdle your milk?”

Merlin guffawed when he realized to what Emrick was referring. “We tend to mash our peas and root vegetables, yes, but not always, and we only curdle our milk for a different kind of cheese or cream for our biscuits. Does it make me a traitor to prefer your country’s cuisine?”

Emrick grinned as he leaned forward, giving Merlin his full attention. “We like to say the leg tastes different than the foot, because our peninsula is shaped as such. It warms me that you like our food more than the south’s.”

Merlin chose not to say that he had yet to eat any southern Italian food and instead let Emrick believe the competition was already won. “How long are you with us?” he asked.

“Just until the end of the festival,” Merlin answered.

“But…this is tomorrow.”

Merlin smiled sadly. “It was a last minute decision to come, but worth it.”

“No,” Emrick said suddenly. “Not worth it, not yet.”

Standing, he took Merlin’s hand and pulled him away from the table. “Come, there is a view you must see.”

Ascending up a narrow flight of stairs, Merlin was not sure where they could possibly go until they crested not two, nor three, but four floors, and then kept climbing. When he thought they would break through the roof, Emrick brought him into a room spanning the entire top floor, furnished in lavish carpets and lush furniture, but he hardly saw any of it as he was further tugged onto the terrace. Below them was a long canal, but to their left was the lagoon, glittering with moonlight.

“Your city is beautiful,” Merlin sighed, giving his weight to the balcony. 

Emrick’s arm touched his as he asked, “Is England not so?”

“It is, but a different kind of beauty,” he replied.

“Does it pain you to leave us so soon? Or do you long to return?”

Merlin’s lips were parted against the ocean’s breeze as he pondered that. “I think…with the right company…I could live anywhere.”

Emrick’s arm slid inside his, and their wrists crossed over the balcony. “That is not an answer.”

Merlin’s lips twitched, trying to smile but unable. “I want more time here, but I have to go back.”

“That does not sound like wanting,” Emrick breathed.

“It’s just…in a night I’ve been shown more kindness than I’ve received in many years,” Merlin revealed. Why he was saying this, he did not know. Emrick was a stranger, but he wasn’t. He had magic, and knew Merlin had it too. He could hear the music in the square clearly, could hear the revelry of people who also knew who he was and who had accepted him instantly.

“I’ve been told England’s weather is cold. Your ale is bitter. Our sky is warm. Our wine is sweet. Why must you go?”

Merlin felt and heard himself giggling as he turned his head and found Emrick’s centimeters away. “What a lovely thought,” he ruminated. “But I can’t.”

“You won’t,” Emrick corrected. His hand overlapped Merlin’s, his fingers tracing over fingers and metacarpals. “Why not? This could be every night.”

Merlin’s chin fell on its own. “The world does not work like that. This will be the only night like this I will ever have.”

“Ah…” Emrick breathed. It was barely audible, more like a gasp than a sound. “You’re breaking my heart. You haven’t even tried. One night means nothing in the face of the world, and you can fill many with happiness.”

“Or a night can be the world,” Merlin countered. “With enough joy to last against the world.”

Emrick’s lips gently, feather light, touched the corner of Merlin’s mouth, and for some reason, this kiss was not a surprise. Merlin felt the tickle of the kiss, the press of supple flesh seeking something closer. Without thinking, he turned his head, and met Emrick’s lips more fully, and then turned away.

“Are you a prostitute?” Merlin asked, not unkindly.

“Yes,” Emrick answered. “Does this bother you?”

“How old are you?” he asked instead.

Emrick laughed, the sound like music. “Old enough to know what pleasure is. Old enough to know who you are. Old enough to want you. Have you never loved before, Merlin?”

Without thinking—a habit of this evening—he pushed the hair fluttering in the breeze behind Emrick’s ear. “I don’t think that’s what you sell. I think you weave beautiful illusions that are exchangeable in gold.”

“What makes you think I’m selling tonight?” Emrick teased. “I want you. Simple. What do you want, Emrys?”

He nuzzled slightly against Merlin’s touch. “I want…” he said, but his thoughts were intercepted by memories of a dinner party he had attended long ago. “I want something that can’t be bought with gold.”

Emrick lifted onto his toes to kiss his cheek; slowly, as if to not spook him. “You want love, but not the kind that stays in bed. I see fear in your eyes. So many people come here with the same fear. They want love, but only the kind they can buy.”

“I’m not afraid to fall in love,” Merlin countered gently as his heart felt more and more bruised. He recognized the illusion Emrick had already crafted around him, simple but intimate touches, equally intimate and honest discussion…a physical, mental, and emotional sanctuary.

“Then why do you fear?”

He smelled the soft fragrance of perfume in Emrick’s hair when he laughed. “I’m so thick…the people around me know me better than I give them credit for…”

To Emrick’s inquiring gaze, Merlin responded, “I kissed a woman tonight. A beautiful, kind person whom I might have the honor of seeing for many nights to come…and I felt nothing. And now a beautiful boy for hire kisses me and…I…”

His knees weakened and he crouched before his legs gave out entirely. “I can’t stand up.”

Breathing was hard. This was a pressure Merlin had never experienced and hadn’t a clue how to handle. Emrick knelt with him and carefully pushed his shoulders so they could face one another. “Does England not let you love men?”

The back of Merlin’s throat ached as he shook his head. “Italy doesn’t either, though.”

Emrick shrugged, his hands still on Merlin’s shoulders but his fingertips explored his jaw, stroked behind an ear. “We were Greek before we were Italian and they knew that love does not see gender.”

He kissed him again, and Merlin’s eyelids closed heavily. It was short, but sweet, with Emrick's tongue teasing the seam of his lips. “You taste like our wine.”

“You taste like…” Merlin replied but he could not quite decide what was on Emrick’s tongue.

He smiled, revealing two dimples. “Pomodori…what word do you have for them?”

“Tomatoes,” Merlin replied, his eyes still closed. Emrick hummed his acknowledgment and kissed him again. This time his chest pressed against Merlin’s as his arms folded behind his neck. Merlin’s slowly found his waist and slide around it, feeling its narrow curve and settling there.

“You called me beautiful,” Emrick said when Merlin pulled away, lost for breath. “Why?”

Merlin laughed giddily as he met his gaze. “Do your clients not tell you that sort of thing?”

“I don’t want to talk about my clients,” Emrick surprised him. “You said it with honesty. I want to know why.”

Merlin looked at this stranger he had not known an hour and said, “You have magic, but you’re here doing this. If I was not serving a duke’s household, I might have come to a similar place…or be worse off.”

Emrick was clearly trained to keep his features tranquil but his tone betrayed him. “You pity me?”

Merlin shook his head. “I respect you. You’re braver than me—oh!”

Without warning, he was pushed onto his back, partially inside the room so a thick carpet caught him. Emrick crawled over him like a cat claiming its territory. “I don’t like pity. I like sex, and I am proud of that. What I don’t understand, is how the great Emrys could think he would be a common whore.”

Merlin winced, shuffling backward into the room. Emrick followed on his hands and knees with languid movements. “I don’t pity you. I just mean that it bothers me to see a person with magic forced to work like this.”

“That’s pity,” Emrick corrected and pounced him against a cushion so large it could hold two or even three bodies. His arms moved slowly, but his fingers worked deftly against Merlin’s buttons. “And I told you, I like sex. I enjoy it. I crave it, but I never imagined Emrys would come to my room, that he would be shy…”

His fingers reached for Merlin’s cravat, but he reflexively slapped them away. “I don’t want to have sex with you!”

“Don’t you?” Emrick countered, and Merlin’s eyes felt like they would fall out of his head when Emrick rolled his groin against his own. Merlin’s head hit the cushion with a loud _pouf_ sound that had Emrick laughing huskily. “You kiss me like you want it. Like I’m something fragile…”

He leaned over him, and Merlin expected him to reach his mouth, but startled when those lips sealed on the exposed skin of his neck. Those hips ground against his again, and again, slowly at first but gaining momentum each time. Teeth found his ear and Merlin flushed brightly at the sound of his own labored panting. He wasn’t paying attention until hands gripped him without the hindrance of fabric and Merlin stared down at himself, fully exposed and throbbing.

“I couldn’t do it forever,” Emrick teased, pecking a kiss on his lips before crawling downwards. “What is the word…chaffing?”

Merlin could not tell what the definition of chaffing was let alone the distance to the moon as something very far from chaffing closed over the head. His eyes squeezed shut as Emrick’s tongue mercilessly swirled over the hole until he felt like he was about to fall over a cliff. His hands clenched the fabric around him. “Emrick, please….stop.”

“That’s not the word,” he replied as if this was a discussion of languages. Letting his tongue go slack, he took more of Merlin inside his mouth, bobbing ever so slightly as he took more and more…until he all but swallowed Merlin’s length.

“Emrick! God, stop stop stop!”

“People usually say ‘yes’ instead of ‘stop,’” Emrick commented dryly.

“That’s not—I mean to actually—” he struggled to say, but Emrick was lazily stroking him and giving kisses to the head that sucked hard when he pulled off and Merlin could not _think_ , and this terrified him.

“Virgins do not usually last this long…”

Merlin could not even hear him anymore, he was entirely devoted to not erupting in magic, screams, tears, or something else entirely. The feeling was too much, both the sensation but also the fear that this was the only time he would get something so exquisite, or that he could only have it like this. Emrick had given him the illusion of love and swept it aside to leave only physicality and Merlin wanted the entire package. He did not want to become dependent on a fragment.

“Stop! STOP!”

“Well this certainly isn’t the wine cellar,” Gwaine said by the door. Merlin and Emrick gazed at him from the cushions, the former wide-eyed and the latter mildly annoyed at the disturbance. Gwaine’s eyes quickly flicked between the two of them, assessing Emrick pinning Merlin down and the blatant terror on the latter’s face. “Is this consensual?”

Merlin’s head shook frantically.

“Right. We’ll be leaving then,” Gwaine announced. In four strides he was across the room and yanked Merlin out from under Emrick with one hand. The youth landed rather indignantly but they were out of the room before he could make a retort. Merlin hastily used magic to put himself to rights and before he knew it Gwaine was bidding adieu to the brothel’s matron and they were once more outside and Gwaine was talking.

“Morgana swung by to tell you she was going back to the flat. You missed a hell of a fireworks display, by the way. I mean that dragon bit was great but then somehow they made a—”

“Thank you,” Merlin uttered.

“Oh sure. It was meant to be a phoenix, I think, but from the wrong angle it looked a bit more phallic, if you get what I mean, and I think you do. But what do you expect when the show is right in front of a brothel?”

“No really, thank you,” Merlin repeated.

In answer, Gwaine handed him the bottle of wine he had left behind when Emrick had summoned him over. “I should have warned you of their tricks. I don’t like paying for people but I nearly fell into bed more than once. Take it easy there.”

Too late. Merlin finished the bottle and Gwaine studied him quizzically. “You know, we’re now two and a half bottles deep and you don’t seem any different. Frazzled, perhaps, but not because of the wine. You can hold your drink.”

Merlin was not about to explain how he was not drunk in the least and instead frowned over the erection in his trousers that was safely tucked away but uncomfortably adamant. Gwaine followed his gaze and chuckled. “Stubborn?”

“It will go away…eventually,” Merlin grumbled, more to tell himself to behave than anything.

“Not likely if you’re riled up,” Gwaine stated and Merlin was whirled into a thin alley out of the light of the main street. “Do you want me to take care of it?”

His eyes threatened to fall out of his head again as he stared at Gwaine. “What? What! No!”

He held up his hands understandingly. “Don’t get me wrong, I prefer women, but I care about my friends and am not afraid of pulling one through a tough time.”

Merlin glared at him and his double meaning. “I just want it _gone_. How do you—”

For the third time tonight, Merlin had lips against his own, but while Gwen’s had been a lackluster surprise and Emrick’s a soft acceptance, Gwaine’s was both surprising and somehow sent a thrill right through Merlin’s core and into his groin, making matters worse.

It was one kiss, but it was slow, and gentle; the scruff of a day’s worth of growth prickled against his jaw but not in an unwanted way. When Gwaine pulled back, Merlin became aware of the way he smelled: warm, clean, and overall the smell of a man.

“Oh…that was…different,” he hummed.

That cheeky grin was on Gwaine’s face. “Thank you.”

“No, it really was…” Merlin was not sure how to explain it.

Gwaine did it for him. “Well, the lad could try but kissing is a man’s game I like to think I am a master of. Now, do I have your consent to sort this out?”

Merlin sighed haughtily as he let his face fall into the crook of Gwaine’s neck. He nodded. Giving him enough time to change his mind, Gwaine undid the buttons of his trousers and slid warm hands inside. Merlin jerked when those hands found him but his inhales quickly became labored and his exhales were harsh out of his mouth. He began to rock with each pull Gwaine gave him and the attentive massage of his scrotum had his toes curling.

His orgasm hit him with an abrupt force that left him embarrassed for exclaiming aloud, but Gwaine nursed him until he was finished, keeping true to his word. Then he closed Merlin back inside his apparel and grasped his chin for another soft set of kisses.

“Why those?” Merlin wondered.

Gwaine gave his charismatic shrug. “I like kissing, and you pick up the skill quickly. You’re all right, Merlin. Can I impose on you for a place to stay? I’m not sure how that lad will react if I came back for an empty bed to sleep in.”

Merlin laughed and nodded. “I don’t think my lady will mind, and the bed is large enough for two.”

Being with Gwaine was easy. Despite being caught and taken care of, Merlin’s shame washed away quickly as Gwaine prattled on with his own stories and revealed why he had been running across the Piazza San Marco earlier that evening. Merlin fell asleep with his cheeks hurting from smiling and with the warmth of a new friend beside him.

The train and ship journey back were rather like the first, but this time much more lively with Gwaine in their company. “I miss my motherland,” he had said, but Ygraine watched his exchanges with Merlin and did not reveal an occupational opening on the Pendragon Estate for nothing. “I suppose I can tear myself away from obligations to earn a little money,” Gwaine had quipped.

What Merlin had not expected, though, was returning to Arthur’s school. The morning they docked in London, Morgana had made the request to visit him since she hand not been able to go before the trip to Venice. Merlin took one look at the façade of the place and took Gwen up on the offer of visiting her brother, Elyan, with Gwaine in tow. The afternoon was then spent in good company while Gwen and Gwaine finished their headaches and Elyan laughed with Merlin over English stereotypes.

They returned to the academy as the sky flushed with the orange of twilight and shadows were becoming more frequent than light. Ygraine was already outside waiting for them but when Merlin asked for Morgana, she gestured inside. “She’s just saying her goodbyes. They’ve been taking some time, though. Would you check on them?”

Merlin climbed the stairs and did not have far to look, nor much to decipher as Morgana slapped Arthur across the face. The foyer was empty but for the two of them, but Morgana’s fury shook as if she hardly cared if they had an audience or not.

“What’s happened to you? You’re awful!”

“I’m honest,” Arthur countered. “If there was another word for it, I’d use it, but the fact remains that you’re becoming a spinster, Morgana.”

“No I’m not! And how dare you? It isn’t your place to define me, nor is it anyone else’s!”

“I’m just saying what people are going to say. If you can’t handle it from me, then how are you going to take it from them? They will look at you and only see your lack of a husband. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s how—”

Merlin wondered how many times she had slapped him already. This made two, by his counting.

Arthur scowled as he righted himself, his cheek clearly scarlet as his eyes found him instead. “Oh. It’s you. My mother’s sent you to fetch this one?”

It was Merlin’s turn to gape at him. “This one? What do you mean ‘this one’? She’s your sister.”

“It doesn’t matter here. You lot showed up and I’m going to have to deal with presumptuous boys asking me about her for the rest of my time here. You can be an independent woman all you want but the faster you find a good one—” Morgana turned on her heal “—the faster the rest will stop talking!”

The school door shut behind her, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone. Arthur made a _tfft_ sound of disapproval, and Merlin gazed at him in disgusted wonder. “You don’t see her for five years and that’s how you greet her? You know she suffers from nightmares and chronic pain, and you tell her to suck it up and get married? She’s got ten years before society calls her a spinster, never mind that what you did isn’t how you treat someone.”

“You don’t know anything, _Merlin,_ ” he shot back. “You don’t know what it’s like here, how men do things, and neither does she. I’ve learned things here and I’m doing her a favor by reminding her what she has to do to survive in this world. I’m doing my part, now it’s her turn.”

“I know how _boys_ behave. You’re saying you hate school and yet you’re just like the rest of them,” Merlin corrected.

Arthur, standing defiantly up until now with his hands in the pockets of his blazer, finally withdrew them to gesture as he spoke. “First you come and try to tell me what I can and cannot do, and now _she_ is doing the same. A woman and a servant—”

Arthur’s words were clipped short when Merlin reached right between his legs and gripped his balls and cock. Arthur’s hands instinctively clenched Merlin’s skinny biceps as his breath quickened, but they were unyielding.

“Are these what make you a man?” Merlin purred, dangerously calm. “Do you think a deeper voice and calling yourself a man makes people ignore how you’re acting like a depraved child? Strange, then, how the jewels of power are so delicate.”

His hand squeezed ever so slightly, but it choked a mewl out of Arthur. “M-Merlin, please…” But a spark of defiance lifted his watery gaze up to meet Merlin’s stoicism. “You can’t do this. You could be punished, sacked, even killed for this.”

“You’re right,” Merlin replied, just as unfazed as before. “But it’s been a long few weeks, and I’ve learned that male or female, duke or whore, we all decide what sort of power we wield. I’d sooner be gone than watch you be your worst. I don’t have the strength for this.”

He did not realize his grip had been steadily tightening until he released Arthur, and the blonde dropped to his knees, panting raggedly. He fondled himself carefully while a sheen of sweat adorned his nape. Merlin retreated a step. “Cruelty…suppressing another does not make you a man. Harassing your sister or those younger than you does not make you a duke. It makes you a monster. Arthur is better than this, better than all of them combined…but I don’t know who this is in front of me.”

Arthur’s breathing was finally deep and even as he lifted his head. His forehead and cheeks were dewy with sweat as he opened his mouth to speak but found his subject leaving. “Where are you going? Merlin!”

But he did not turn around. He strode silently from the foyer of the school that had turned Arthur’s shyness into something he did not want to see.

“Merlin!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now Arthur will regularly be in the story haha
> 
> Just pretend like the royal family's name was always Windsor so the joke can stay.


	7. Lady of the Lake ~ Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seven months later, Arthur returns home to celebrate his birthday properly, and having the family together in the Pendragon household is a...special time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo lovelies!!! I'm operating as if Merlin's birthday is October 1st while Arthur's is October 31st. Arthur will learn this himself later but I don't want any of you confused.
> 
> And no, Arthur doesn't stop being a royal little shit yet.

Seven months later.

Merlin saw the carriage pass through the trees and gripped the pearlescent mane in his hands, the only urging Aithusa needed to leap into a gallop. She weaved through the thick shrubbery and trees with ease, more like flying than running. Merlin sat upon her without a need for saddle or bridle, communicating through minute touches and mental nudges. His hair moved floppily through the wind’s fingers as Aithusa made what should have been an hour into minutes, and those minutes seemed to shrink into precious seconds as she bounded clear over the broken wall of Pendragon Estate.

“Stay here, _starlight,_ ” he murmured, the last word warm with magic as he left her to graze among the cluster of apple trees, happily blooming out of season with a glance from him.

Straightening his riding coat, Merlin buttoned the top few holes of his shirt before he rounded the corner to the courtyard, where the entire household was queued and waiting.

“You’re late,” Morgana greeted quietly when he came to stand a half step behind her and Ygraine. As personal servants, they stood with the family while the rest of the household stood opposite. On Morgana’s other side, Guinevere exchanged a smile with him. “And a mess.”

“Right on time,” he countered, raking a hand through his hair. It was damp from the misty morning, causing the one side stick in place. 

The carriage rode smoothly up the drive, only rattling when it came to a stop between the rows of people. The servants straightened, ready to welcome the heir back home. Cook was absolutely beside herself, her cheeks just as rosy as when she hovered over her stoves; she carried a platter of Arthur’s favorite pastries with a light cloth defending against curious insects.

The carriage door swung open and the youth himself stepped out. Merlin, with his customary place behind Ygraine’s shoulder with Gaius and Gwen on either side of him, felt the collective intake of breath around him, particularly from the maids. Arthur did not look much different from the last time Merlin had seen him, only now he stood upright and his face was not flushed with pain.

Uther’s arms spread wide for him and then closed to clasp Arthur’s hand and shoulder. Ygraine enfolded her son in an embrace, her fingers combing through the soft tresses on his nape. “Welcome back, my love. How was the journey?”

“Adequate,” Arthur replied, leaning out of the hug.

Merlin’s brows twitched in a frown. As if sensing his sentiment, Arthur’s eyes flicked onto him but just as quickly went to Cook and her tray. “Would you like a refreshment, milord? I made your old favorites.”

Arthur lifted the kerchief and targeted the small cherry tarts. Uther pulled his son close by the shoulder and began to lead the way inside. “All of the arrangements have been made; guests should be arriving this time tomorrow…”

Ygraine pivoted to garner Merlin’s attention. He bent slightly so she could mutter in his ear with ease, “You didn’t have enough time to put Aithusa away. Where is she?”

Merlin cast a look through the mansion the same instant he connected his mind with hers, and they both saw a greedy horse on her hind legs, reaching for the tallest of apples. Ygraine placed a hand on her chest as if to stifle her giggles. “It might be best to retain her before she eats the entire garden.”

“Yes, my lady,” he nodded, and strode back in the direction he had come. When he reached the orchard part of the garden, though, he found another presence with Aithusa. Gwaine sat against a tree with a Spanish guitar he had picked up on the journey back from Venice; Aithusa stood over him, harmlessly ruffling his hair with short bursts of air.

“Do you ever do actual work?” Merlin said by way of greeting.

Gwaine perked up with bright eyes and a grin to match. “On a fine morning like today, I wouldn’t dare spoil it with work. And with the proper company to match…”

He simultaneously pushed Aithusa away and patted her cheek on his way to hug Merlin. The guitar clanged rather inharmoniously but Gwaine hardly noticed. “It’s been a long month, my friend.”

“Thank you for maintaining everything in my stead,” Merlin said as they pulled away.

“No worries,” Gwaine shrugged. “The Ladies of Pendragon and I have gotten along swimmingly and you and I—” he procured a coin out of his sleeve, flicking it into the air so it rang a clear note “—have a drink to share. Tonight?”

Merlin nodded, “Only, I’m not sure when the party arrangements will be finished.”

Gwaine agreed, “Gaius mentioned a few favors he’d like of me. I’ll find you later.”

“You mean after you trick Leon into doing them for you,” Merlin teased.

To his credit, Gwaine kept an expression free of guilt. “I would never, but now that you’ve suggested it…”

They parted ways, one playing a song and the other whistling for a stubborn horse to follow. Aithusa trotted after him readily enough, but not without a series of strong nudges that made their path to the stables crooked and slow. The sight of Atlas sticking his head out of his stall focused her attentions, however, and Merlin closed the door of the stall adjacent once Aithusa was inside.

Before going to Ygraine, Merlin dashed to Gaius’s rooms for the herbs she used in her midday teas. No sooner had he grabbed the familiar jar and taken a step toward the door, then Gaius chided, “You’re not performing your duties in those clothes, are you?”

Rotating without a word, Merlin marched to his room to change his frayed coat, wrinkled trousers, and muddy boots—

He stopped inside the doorway. His stomach was not quite sure whether to swan dive or flutter so it clenched in place. Without turning around, Arthur asked, “How was Carnivale?”

He held the dragon mask in his hands. Merlin’s eyes locked onto it possessively until the youth turned around and set it back on his dresser, carelessly on top of a flower crown several years old. Blue eyes lowered to his boots. “Where have you been? You clearly only just made it back.”

“The Duchess gave me the month to return home,” Merlin answered.

The eyes lifted, clearly trying to appear indifferent but Merlin recognized the intensity of someone trying to understand something. “Where is home?”

“My mother lives several kilometers west, near the border.”

One of Arthur’s brows flicked upwards. “What could you have done to earn such a holiday?”

“I was born,” Merlin replied bluntly.

He had clearly taken Arthur by surprise. “Your birthday is this month?”

Merlin looked at him with mild skepticism. “Ten years and now you’re curious?”

The muscles in Arthur’s jaw clenched. “No, and you’re addressing me wrongly again. It’s a wonder you’ve kept your job for so long.”

Merlin laughed, thoroughly puzzling him. “What can I do for you, my lord?”

Arthur seemed to stand a little straighter even as his eyes wandered over him, as if waiting for Merlin’s audacity to return. “You can start by not looking like you just crawled out of a sty. Then I wish for tea to be brought to my room along with a proper meal. I can’t sustain a diet of Cook’s sweets. We’ll start with that for now.”

He made to stride out of the room as Merlin nodded. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur paused, clearly by accident but he had drawn even with Merlin, who gazed at him evenly, unblinking. Arthur’s eyes absorbed his tranquil expression before wandering…between the top of Merlin’s head and the where top of Arthur’s could brush the tip of Merlin’s nose. He was still taller, much to Arthur’s displeasure.

“You should bow lower than your lord, at least,” he retorted and then continued out of the room. Merlin smiled without watching him go.

Mint tea and a venison pie later, Merlin was pouring Ygraine’s tea while she let her hair down over her slender shoulders. “Is Hunith well?”

“She doesn’t tell me when she’s ill in her letters,” Merlin opened. “When I arrived she had a cold that was becoming more serious as the minutes passed.”

Far from worried, Ygraine laughed, “I’m sure you made quick work of that.”

Merlin smiled at her mirror’s expression as he set the cup on her vanity. “I—”

The curtains over her door whipped open and Arthur came in like a force. “Mother, I expected for there to be new shirts in my bureau. I didn’t pack expecting to only have a child’s garments waiting for m—”

He stopped in the middle of the room, sighting Merlin with the teapot in one hand while the pair of them gazed over their shoulders. Arthur scowled, “Shouldn’t my steward have things ready for me?”

Ygraine spoke as if she was neither miffed nor patient for such behavior. “You can’t own people, my love, and he’s not yours. He is mine until you’re old enough. Consider this training on how to be appreciative for all they do for us.”

Arthur blinked. “That’s hypocritical, isn’t it?”

The Duchess stood from her chair, coming across the floor with all the grace of her character and revealing that she was not entirely dressed. For all Arthur’s posed maturity, his eyes widened and he lifted a hand over his eyes. “Mother! You’re not—where is your gown? You can’t be with _him_ in just your petticoats!”

“Of course I can,” Ygraine contradicted. She swung his arm down and tapped under his chin for him to lift his eyes. Those startled blues flicked between her matching ones and Merlin, who was distracted with folding her morning gown and readying her more casual afternoon dress. “This is my room, and I trust my steward. He would not hold such a position otherwise. That is what it means to let someone take care of you.”

Arthur frowned over his rosy cheeks. “How difficult can it be to handle gowns?”

Ygraine guffawed. “It is a comfort to know you haven’t touched one yet.”

Arthur seemed like he was ready to evaporate. “Mother!”

Cradling one side of his face, she planted a loud kiss on the opposite cheek. “You mustn’t be in a rush, sweetheart. You’re allowed to be your age.”

“I’m fifteen tomorrow,” Arthur said, as if this validated something.

“Stating facts does very little for an argument, darling, but I’ll be sure to have new shirts brought to you as soon as possible. Is there anything else you wanted?”

Arthur sent his characteristic pout Merlin’s way. “Yes. The new shirts aired out as soon as they arrive, ironed, hanging for my inspection, and then properly tailored. My boots need cleaning and oiled. Supper should be prepared to my standards, which sadly do not agree with Cook’s methodology. I’d suggest supervising her work.”

Merlin was not sure if he visibly blanched but he felt his blood pressure fall. The notion of telling Cook how her kitchen should be run was akin to telling a sailor how the tide ebbs and flows: a foolish endeavor and likely to get his own head grilled…and Arthur knew this, but he was not finished.

“My rooms feel like the windows haven’t been opened in the years I was gone. This warrants a thorough dusting as well. I won’t stand for the horses that brought me here to be handled by rough hands. Anyone can fill a food or water bucket. Their stalls should be cleaned along with their hooves. Brush their mane and tails while you’re at it, we passed through quite a few briar patches—”

“And come back in time for dinner to cut your meat and feed it to you?” Merlin finished.

For a split second, Arthur was unnerved by his talking back, but it quickly vanished into something like triumph. “I do hope he does not speak to you like this, Mother.”

“You’ll learn to cherish it, dear,” Ygraine replied, causing her son to whip his head in the direction she sauntered across the room. His body slowly rotated, also following her as his mouth gaped like a fish before it snapped closed when she inquired, “Merlin, how do you plan to style my hair?”

Arthur looked at him. “You do that?” he meant to say, but Merlin’s response was swifter.

He moved across the room with the ease of someone who spent hours in it, and moved Ygraine’s blond hair off her back and over to one shoulder. Arthur watched as Merlin explained, “A loose braid starting here…” with his fingers behind her ear that moved across her nape to demonstrate how her hair would be tied and elegantly fall over one shoulder…but he touched and even began to twine her hair with the same familiarity as he had with the rest of the room.

“Flowers will be easy enough to weave here,” Merlin was saying when Arthur found himself sinking onto the large bed.

“Go ahead,” Ygraine consented, and Merlin fetched one of her bouquets to have while he worked. With a comb in hand, he plucked sprigs of wildflowers such as purple harebell and pink hemp. Merlin weaved a braid behind her ears and strategically pinned it so the flora almost formed a laurel.

“They’ll wilt by the time we eat,” Arthur commented from the bed, “and why don’t you wait for tomorrow for that?”

“You were a long labor, my love, so I’m starting now,” Ygraine quipped as she tweaked a flower’s adjustment here and there in the mirror. “And if you always wait for reasons to be festive, life will pass in a very boring manner. Merlin, go ahead into town for the shirts, and Arthur, go with him. The tailor will be able to measure your size and finish the work sooner.”

Merlin perked up from the bouquet he was rearranging after using it for her hair. “What about the party arrangements?”

She smiled at him from her reflection. “I reckon Leon and Gwaine can manage under Gaius’s instruction. As much as Gwaine pretends to be lackadaisical, his honor betrays him.”

Merlin matched her smile and simply nodded. Arthur’s eyes flicked between them until Merlin announced that he would ready the horses. Ygraine ushered, “Take Aithusa. That mare is never out of her stall enough.”

Arthur countered, “It’s unseemly for a servant to use his Lady’s mount.”

“Aithusa was originally Merlin’s,” Ygraine informed without missing a beat. “It’s by the good grace of that creature that anyone else mounts her. Atlas should be a nice fit for you, though. Try to behave yourselves in town.”

Arthur stood from the bed and straightened his trousers. “What do you think we’re going to do? Duck into a tavern and—”

His gaze had unconsciously sought Merlin, who was already gone. “Where’d he—Mum, why do you let him behave without proper manners? You’re too soft on him.”

She laughed as she approached and refolded his collar for him. “I’ve missed you.”

Her son blinked, his features caught between a frown and bewilderment. “Where is this going? I thought you’d be proud of me.”

Her tawny lashes swooped up and her hands lifted from his collar to cradle his face. “I am. Don’t ever doubt that, but do not mistake softness for weakness. Ever. On the contrary, it takes an incredibly strong heart to be kind in this world.”

Arthur did not realize he was holding his breath until it rushed out of him for release and he tried to avert his eyes. “Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not talking about him,” she murmured. “I’m talking to you.”

Lost for words, a silence draped over them as Arthur absorbed her meaning. Leaning forward, Ygraine kissed his forehead, then his nose. “Happy birthday, Arthur. May this be the fifteenth of many. Now go get your shirts, and try not to give Merlin such hard time.”

“Me?” Arthur sputtered as she released him. “That lazy—”

She moved around him and pushed under his shoulder blades to guide him out of the room. “The only lazy one here is my son. Your bum is rounder than when I last saw it.”

She gave him a final poke to get him out of the room while he screeched, “MUM!”

“See you tonight, darling!” she finished, closing the curtains between them. Rubbing his derriere and grumbling under his breath, Arthur made his way through the corridors, nodding to the servants who curtsied for him until he made it outside to the front of the stables.

“Morgana,” he acknowledged, “and Guinevere.”

Gwen curtsied demurely and Morgana turned to him, her chin comfortably high. “Brother. I trust your journey was bumpy and aggravating.”

He sighed for patience as he heard a familiar voice inside with the horses. “It was smooth enough.”

“Shame,” she said dryly. “It might have been nice for a wheel to break or something.”

“My lady…” Gwen breathed beside her.

The loud clop of hooves drew Arthur’s attention back to the stables. “I…owe you an apology. I…said untoward things.”

Morgana stared at him as if he had opened a third eye. After a long moment she admitted, “Hm. Seems you’re not lost for this world. Happy birthday, brother.”

“Is that really necessary, my lady?” Gwen wondered quietly, careful to not overstep her boundaries.

“It’s a sister’s place to check her brother from being a prat. I’m doing a service to the world.”

Arthur sighed again. “Merlin’s influence is wide, I see.”

“I have eyes in my head,” Morgana countered, “but Merlin is waiting on you. Save him before that horse gets out of hand.”

Arthur’s weight shifted and he nodded. “My ladies,” he dismissed before his eyes caught on Gwen who hurriedly curtsied again. His lips parted, intending to undo his mistake, but with Morgana peering between them, he strode into the stables as casually as he could.

The sight waiting for him at the end of the tunnel was far from what he had presumed. A great pale horse stood before Merlin, her long face bowed and pressed against his torso as he rested his lips beside her forelock and stroked her cheeks and neck. Merlin’s coat was tossed over her back and his white sleeves were rolled up his forearms. As Arthur came nearer, he realized Merlin was singing. The low velvet of his voice swam through the air, calming not only Aithusa, but the horses around them as well. Arthur came as close as a step behind Merlin’s shoulder before he said, “This is the beast people keep talking about? She’s taller than I remember, but—”

The spell broke. Aithusa jerked up and marched through Merlin, knocking him to the floor. Arthur backpedaled rapidly, but not fast enough. Aithusa snorted loudly, rushing him down and revealing just how tall she was. Over sixteen hands high, Arthur’s eyes widened up at her, the only thoughts in his mind to not fall and be trampled—

Arthur felt the satin back of Merlin’s waistcoat when Merlin stepped in front of him, his arm curling backwards to hold Arthur against him. _“Aithusa, be calm,”_ Merlin ordered, but his voice was the same deep resonance as when he sang. Air rushed out of her nose and her hooves trenched deep grooves in the packed earthen floor. One kick would break Merlin’s legs.

 _“Aithusa, he is not a threat,”_ Merlin cooed. Arthur jerked when Merlin’s hand closed around his wrist, lifting it under his arm to bring its back for Aithusa to sniff. Arthur’s other hand clenched Merlin’s shirt, not daring to speak but dreading the potential bite of the horse’s maw.

_“He is not a threat to you or to me. We’re about to go into town, so I need you to be calm.”_

Her ears perked up, a good sign. Arthur stared over Merlin’s shoulder, still as ice as her nose tickled his hand with sniffs. “Merlin…” he whispered.

Her ears twitched and Arthur’s breath rustled to a halt in his throat as her large head reared up so he was looking into two large nostrils. His chin ducked at the last second to bury his face against Merlin’s shoulder, but this caused the next snort to go straight into his hair. Merlin chuckled, inducing Arthur to peek up and realize his hair was sticking straight up. The steward lethargically pushed her head aside with the command, “Go get Atlas,” before he turned to face Arthur. He paused and then doubled over at the sight of Arthur’s hair.

The youth bristled. “This isn’t funny!”

“Of course not, sire,” he said between laughs. Providing a handkerchief from his pocket, Merlin began cleaning Arthur’s hair as the latter’s eyes watched Aithusa push open the chestnut horse’s stall door.

“She’s too smart,” he commented the same moment he felt Merlin rearranging his hair. “What are you doing? You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making it better,” Merlin corrected with a grimace on his face. “How much oil did you use?”

“A proper amount!” Arthur whined as Merlin tugged the handkerchief through the rest of his hair, absorbing excess styling oil.

“Unless you’re trying to cook on your head, this is too much.”

“Lord,” Arthur scolded under his breath, finally resigning himself to his fate.

“My lord,” Merlin obliged. He finished cleaning Arthur’s slicked mess of a style and procured a comb to fluff it back to its natural, characteristic volume. Relieved from the oil, the golden wisps lay flat on their own but in a more windblown way that Merlin arranged slightly off to the side. “There. That’s familiar.”

“You mean I look like a child,” Arthur reiterated, shooting him a halfhearted glare.

Merlin’s mouth twisted to the side in a grimace. “If school has made you this pessimistic, I’m glad I never enrolled. Try not to get bitten while I get the saddles.”

While Merlin retrieved the bridles, saddles, and saddle mats for the horses, Arthur found a bucket of water to see his reflection. Merlin gave him the grace of pretending he did not notice. Aithusa behaved herself and Atlas was tranquil as Arthur swung a leg over him. Merlin partially expected him to make a comment about how it should be the Duchess’s son who rides her mount, not her servant, but given their introduction, Arthur remained silent.

The quietude threatened to last all the way into town. The awkward gap was palpable between them so Merlin voiced, “You needn’t be worried to be alone with me.”

“Who’s worried?” Arthur snapped, keeping his gaze on the trees.

“I understand,” Merlin pursued. “I was too forward—”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“I won’t touch you again,” he finished.

Arthur’s back was rigid in his saddle. He ventured glance over his shoulder that locked with Merlin’s. “How do you plan to serve me if you can’t touch me? Or can’t you tie a cravat?”

Merlin grinned, the tension breaking. “If nothing else, I can tie a cravat, my lord.”

“Well enough,” Arthur relinquished.

They arrived at the tailor’s and Arthur slid off of the saddle to hand the reins to Merlin to manage the horses. Merlin was accustomed to the stares Aithusa garnered but today passersby stopped to whisper behind gloved hands of how the young Duke had returned. The tailor’s shop rested in a large roundabout, allowing Merlin a comfortable view of all directions. Two blocks ahead was where a witch had given him directions to Pendragon manor, half a kilometer west was the tavern Gwaine intended to take him that evening, and between it all were people in starched coats and warm autumn colors. Some young men carried their jackets over their shoulders since the sun’s heat was strong when there was not a breeze, and the women opened parasols to maintain their complexion but deny the pleasant heat. Merlin supposed the women wearing layers of gowns had an advantage over the one wearing trousers but—

He spun around, eyes darting through the crowd. He rushed across the street, leaving the horses where their reins were held by iron posts. He made it all the way across the roundabout without being trampled by carriages but the sight of copper-brown trousers were gone, the dark hair pulled up under a top hat…

Merlin’s eyes widened and he retreated quickly. “Arthur,” he breathed, his mind on full alert. _Stay with Arthur. Stay with Arthur…_

Ignoring the new round of cabbie’s yelling at him and waving their horse whips at him, he intended to bound up the stairs to the shop but found a different matter entirely waiting for him. In the minute he had been gone a group of bored teenagers and local workers had converged around the horses. Someone’s hand slapped Aithusa’s flanks, eliciting a shrill cry from her and laughter from them. Atlas was restless and snapped his jaws when someone touched him on his blind side. One of the youths was reaching for his reins to untie him and move him away from Aithusa, but Merlin’s hand closed over his wrist.

“Get your hand off,” the scruffy youth rebuked. He appeared even younger up close.

“These mounts belong to the Pendragon household,” Merlin countered.

“You heard ‘im,” one of the older men said. “Jamie, pay up. Only a royal could own such a mount.”

“I don’t see any Dukes here,” the adolescent said, refusing to let go of Atlas’s reins. “Only a servant with hands as soft as theirs.”

“I apologize for being unclear,” Merlin replied, his voice lowering. “Release my horse and get your friends’ away from the mare before you no longer have hands.”

He did not wait for a snappy response or for a physical threat to arise. Eclipsing all of their minds, Merlin placed the urgency of a forgotten deed, the panic to be a mile away from this spot, in their limbs. The area in front of the shop was clear except for him and the horses within seconds.

And then a carriage clattered by, splattering him with mud and suspiciously smelling fluid the same moment Arthur emerged from the shop. He stopped at the sight of Merlin’s trousers. “Merlin,” he said with disappointment.

“This just happened!” the steward sputtered.

Arthur wasn’t buying it. “Carry yourself with some dignity. You represent the Pendragon name as much as I do.”

Merlin sighed. Arthur was safe and so were the horses. His attire was a cheap price to pay for it. Arthur jogged down the steps with a bundle that he tossed to him. “Try not to ruin them.”

“That was quick,” Merlin appreciated, securing the parcel of shirts to Aithusa’s saddle.

“Turns out my mother had already guessed my measurements and placed an order for shirts a while ago. At least someone is diligent in my life.”

At this point, Merlin thought it best to return to the manor as soon as possible before anything worse than his ruined trousers happened. Arthur played the part of dignified heir with perfection on their way out of the city, nodding and exchanging brief pleasantries to those who recognized him while Merlin kept his gaze on a swivel. Their return was greeted with the lengthening shadows of midafternoon, and as soon as Merlin put Atlas and Aithusa in the pasture Gaius met him in the courtyard. “Ygraine needs you.”

“Why?” Merlin asked despite already striding toward the nearest arched doorway.

“The cramps are persistent today, and the heat is upon her.”

“That’s normal, isn’t it?” Merlin worried.

Gaius nodded, hardly perturbed. “Unless her fever is joined by other symptoms, it is only the cycle of age.”

The carpets over the stone floors muffled their steps as they ascended the floors of the estate. Despite the length and speed of Merlin’s stride, Gaius kept up easily. “Doesn’t this happen too often? I was reading the French physician’s book you purchased, and it says menopause is a single ordeal. This has been happening for a while.”

“I wouldn’t depend on a man’s writing to understand how a woman’s body works,” Gaius commented dryly. “Though I share your concern. The teas and heated pad aren’t enough today and she wants to be her best for Arthur’s birthday. She doesn’t want him to see her in a weak state.”

“It might do Arthur good to understand more about the female condition,” Merlin scoffed.

Gaius gazed at him for a long moment before he said, “You seem to be strung a little tightly for someone who just returned from a holiday.”

Merlin glanced over his shoulder to see if the corridor was empty and they paused in the shadow of an alcove. “I think I saw Nimueh while Arthur and I were in town.”

Gaius was normally somber so his features betrayed nothing but he asked, “You think? You’re not sure?”

“It was only a glimpse,” he explained, “but how many women wear trousers?”

Gaius hummed his agreement and pondered this for a time. When he spoke, he surprised Merlin. “Stay near Ygraine.”

“Not Arthur?”

“Arthur will be surrounded by eyes during his stay here, including our own. Danger is less likely in a crowd.”

Merlin disagreed, “It’s more convenient with a crowd. Nimueh could slip in without being noticed.”

Gaius’s deceptively strong hand closed around his arm. “I will keep Arthur occupied with physician exams until tomorrow. I don’t trust the health examiner at the academy. You must tend to Ygraine. Do not leave her side.”

Merlin did not question Gaius’s pride as a doctor but his brow furrowed as he interpreted the man’s thoughts. “Do you think Nimueh is behind Ygraine’s pain?”

“I don’t think anything, but I know Ygraine’s body has not been the same since she had Arthur.”

During his brief introduction to Nimueh, the witch had not been shy of her involvement in Arthur’s conception. That night was fraught with tension and he and Ygraine had gladly left it behind, but now…

“Why would she intentionally ruin Ygraine’s body? It doesn’t make sense to help someone’s fertility only to wreck the vessel carrying the child.”

Gaius’s eyes were keen, always thinking but only revealing what he wished. “Don’t underestimate Nimueh’s intelligence or her schemes. If she is here…if she is planning something, then it has been in progress for a long time.”

“Since before Arthur’s birth?”

“Likely because of Arthur’s birth,” Gaius amended.

Merlin felt his stomach sinking in his abdomen. Before he could question Gaius further, the elder man steered them once more through the corridor. “Do not raise alarm until we have something confirmed. Go to her and celebrate the occasion for what it is.”

A dark part of Merlin’s mind questioned _The beginning of Ygraine’s death or the start of Arthur’s life?_ but he stamped it down. Knocking on the frame of her door, Merlin waited until he heard her voice before pushing through the curtains.

He stopped. “My lord, I’m sorry. I did not mean to intrude.”

“You’re not, Merlin,” Ygraine assured from her bed. Uther Pendragon lay beside her on top of the covers, holding her hand and playing with her fingers.

“I sent for Gaius,” Uther stated, “but he trusts you in his stead. I’ll leave you to it.” He pushed himself up and kissed his wife’s hand before he swung his legs off the bed. His hand was heavy on Merlin’s shoulder as he passed out of the room. “Take care of my bird. I want her flying tomorrow.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin nodded, keeping his head down.

The curtains flapped against the doorframe and he turned to the Duchess, who threw off the covers with a loud huff. “It’s a furnace in here.”

Merlin smiled, noticing she had never bothered to don her afternoon gown. The flowers were still in her hair, disheveled but not wilted in the slightest. Her arm stretched out for him, and he felt the heat radiating off of her from her touch. “The furnace is you. Why didn’t you say something this morning?”

“The room was cool with the morning,” she excused. “The afternoon warmth works against me.”

“This evening will be cool again,” he promised. He pressed the back of his hand against her forehead, temple, and neck. Her skin was slightly dewy with sweat but her eyes were clear and her breathing strong. “I’ll bring you iced hibiscus tea.”

“We still have the hibiscus plant?” she exclaimed but just as quickly dismissed it. “Of course we do. Only you would keep a plant healthy all the way from Constantinople.”

Merlin laughed, remembering one of their adventures across Europe, against Uther’s consent at having his wife on a completely different continent, much less the far end of it. “Gaius wouldn’t forgive me if I let it die. He’s fond of the blooms. Would you like lemon and orange with it?”

She smiled warmly. “You know me well enough not to ask. Be swift.”

He was, descending to the kitchen to find the kettle already screaming and the jar of dried hibiscus flowers open for him while a knife sliced through citrus fruit. It fell onto the cutting board the same moment he entered the kitchen and Cook turned around, bellowing. “Who put the kettle on? You.”

Merlin ducked under the attack of her tea towel and poured the water into the tall carafe. The water was already blushing red as he dropped the orange and lemon slices into it and swiped it off the counter to go for ice. “It’s always you! Things always go amuck in my kitchen when you’re in it!”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Merlin countered, opening the door to the cellar. “Don’t blame others for your going batty.”

“Why—you!” she screeched, grasping the broom this time.

The ice in the bucket split for him without his needing to wield the chisel as the air felt suddenly warmer. The walls hummed with a deep laughter. _I dread the day her broom hits its mark, Emrys._

 _I think you’re looking forward to it,_ Merlin sassed, already heading toward the door.

_You were not wrong. Nimueh is here._

His steps halted and he turned to see through the rock dividing them. The dragon was flying under him, weaving through the columns of rock supporting the Pendragon Estate over the caverns like a restless feline. _Why?_

_You and Gaius know why. Be diligent, young warlock, and do not fail this time._

Merlin did not have time to inquire further so he rushed upstairs to set the carafe on the table beside Ygraine’s head and poured her a glass. “Do you want me to—?”

“No,” she answered, knowing what he offered. “This is enough. How was Arthur in town?”

Merlin shrugged. “Fine. Why didn’t you tell me you had arranged to have shirts made? I would have picked them up this morning.”

“Would you?” she giggled breathlessly as he rearranged her pillows so she could sit up. “I remember you barely being on time.”

“I would have made time,” he assured.

“I believe it,” she eyed him over the rim of her glass as she sipped. “My warlock.”

“Be mindful, my lady,” he self-consciously peeked at the door. “With more people in the house, there are more ears to listen.”

“Do you think I don’t know how you sound proof this room whenever we are together? When you share your mind with me, I can feel how it buzzes. It’s almost too much.”

He sat beside her. It was Ygraine’s turn to play with his fingers. “You never voiced how it hurts to communicate that way.”

“Because it doesn’t.” Her fingertips traced over his metacarpals and the slim curve of his wrist. “It’s only…daunting…how much you think. I can only catch flashes of thought: silence prying ears, have tea ready at nine and three, she likes the hems of her dresses ironed—”

“It keeps her feet warm,” they finished together. Merlin laughed with her as she squeezed his hand and then let her grip rest loosely in the bend of his wrist.

“It is a gift to share your mind. It is selfish of me to enjoy how much you think for me. I’m not sure anyone except perhaps Gaius is so considerate. I was afraid at first. Seeing the chaos of your thoughts made me fear for you getting lost in your own head, but your voice cuts through it all when you speak to me. A mother’s worry rendered obsolete…”

The glass stood between her thighs and she plucked an orange slice out of it to hold out to Merlin. Pinching part of the peel with her, they pulled it apart so the juicy wedges could be bitten away from the rind. “It’s dripping,” he warned.

Ygraine made a sound of disregard and pulled off some orange with her teeth. “Would you do something for me?” she asked around the fruit.

His head tilted to the side, puzzled but also curious. “Anything.”

She smiled as she swallowed. “Pick some pennyroyals and petunia from the garden? Once the frost sets in the blooms will be wasted. They can go toward decorating Arthur’s cake. Best be swift before he complains about it.”

Merlin laughed. “It is not as warm outside. Would you join me in the garden?”

Her eyes shined with surprised and then she grinned. “I’d love to. Help this old woman out of bed.”

“You’re hardly old, my lady,” he chided gently, proven right by how she nimbly swung her legs out of the blankets and stood with a tug of his hand. “Would the white one be better?” he asked when he lifted the green dress from the bed he had set out for the afternoon.

“Please,” she agreed, and he went to hang it back inside her closet. Merlin found one of her white ones, an airy ensemble that was practically a chemise covered with a more prudent layer of lace, but it was light and the most comfortable garment Ygraine owned. After easing it over her head, he tied the laces and set her slippers down while he reached for a large blanket.

She left the shoes untouched and took his arm as they descended the stairs to the gardens. A basket and other garden materials usually rested outside the door, which Merlin grabbed in passing and set beside Ygraine when he shook out the blanket for her to lie upon. The flowers were easy enough to pick but he soon became distracted with grooming the plants of dead leaves and picking at the soil. He kept up the conversation with Ygraine as he worked until Morgana joined them.

“I saw you from my window,” she smiled. “I couldn’t resist.”

“Bless the wind,” Ygraine stretched her arms over her head while the air teased at her hair.

Morgana appeared ready to say more but her open lips turned down at the sight of Merlin reaching deep underneath the shrubs. “Merlin, it’s usually one’s other end that sticks up in the air.”

“Sorry!” came his muffled voice. Eventually he emerged with handfuls of dead bits as well as a head full of plant debris. He rearranged the basket of flowers to make way for several mushrooms. Morgana became interested in his work and the three of them discussed which plants went toward medicine, the kitchen, or disposal, as Gaius had taught Merlin years before.

Some time later, Arthur peeked out of the high windows of Gaius’s rooms. “Gaius we’ve been here for _hours_. I’m healthy.”

“One last thing,” the old man countered. “Here, drink this tonic.”

“What’s it for?” he returned warily, accepting the small glass of greenish fluid.

“Keeps the blood moving,” Gaius answered ambivalently.

“Does breathing not have the same effect?” Arthur wondered, giving it a sniff. He reared back, “It smells like rotten greens.”

“Yes…fermentation helps,” Gaius responded before tipping the glass back on Arthur’s lips. He nearly gagged twice but got it down and shivered violently because of it.

“Do you make Merlin drink this?”

“A good question,” Gaius perked up from cleaning the glass. “Fetch him, would you? Before he gets out of it again. I think I heard him out in the gardens.”

Arthur could not leave fast enough, and he ducked Cook’s eager, coddling hands in order to get out into the early night air. If Merlin had not changed, he would be somewhere between the rows of flowering plants, probably cooing at the ones that bloom at night or trying to clean them down to the roots…

“Merlin,” he called, bending down to peer underneath the roses. He rounded the corner of lilacs and bent down again. “Merlin, if you’ve fainted underneath the branches, I’m not coming in after you—GAH!”

A hard poke in his rear end made him jerk and hit his head on the lilac branches. Petals rained over him as he extracted himself from the plant and faced an expression of equal parts bemusement and delight on a man whose hair was thick and dark, with a facial scruff to match.

“Sorry, mate! Usually Merlin’s the one with his ass in the air and his head in the flowers. Do you know where I can find him?”

“I’m looking for him myself,” Arthur said while brushing himself off. “Who are you? I don’t think I saw you this morning.”

“Technically I’m not a servant,” Gwaine shrugged, “but Ygraine has been kind enough to let me stay. Gaius has certainly made me pay for it with work. I’m a bit of a souvenir from Venice and a friend of Merlin’s. You must be the expected son of the dukedom.”

“Arthur,” he reworded. “Venice? You sound English.”

“Oh, as English as we come, to be sure,” Gwaine chuckled. “Speaking of, Merlin and I are supposed to be sharing an English lager right about now. Let’s find the blue-eyed stoat, shall we?”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “Stoat, that’s exactly what he is. He’s probably with my mother.”

When Arthur followed Gwaine into the house, the latter asked over his shoulder, “Don’t you have a dinner to be attending or something?”

“Tomorrow,” Arthur corrected. “Frankly, I need to get out of this place before Gaius pulls me back for another examination.”

“You’re a bit young to start drinking, aren’t you?” Gwaine uttered as they crested the stairs.

“That’s not your decision,” Arthur pointed out.

Far from being bothered, Gwaine tipped his head with a laugh. “We all have our reasons for starting, I suppose.”

Sure enough, upon knocking on Ygraine’s door, Arthur led the way into an impromptu dinner that included the Duchess, her steward, Morgana as well as Guinevere. Trays of olives stuffed with garlic and cheese, small meat pies, and pieces of bread piled with tomato, courgette, and basil were set on various tables for people to pick at.

“Hello, Gwaine,” Guinevere smiled the same moment Ygraine reached for her son.

“Good evening, ladies,” Gwaine gallantly bowed. “May I steal Merlin for a few hours?”

He reached for a piece of bread and ate the pile whole. Ygraine smiled while her head rested on Arthur’s chest. “You can have him for the night but bring him back. It will be quite a busy day tomorrow. So much standing and waiting to be done.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Gwaine smiled, revealing dimples on either side of those straight teeth. Merlin wiped his hands of brine from the olives and met him on the other side of the room. Gwaine’s grin broadened and he hooked an arm around Merlin’s neck the same time he locked eyes with Arthur, “In case I forget to say it, happy birthday, Arthur.”

“I’m coming with,” he reminded.

“Not tonight,” Ygraine intercepted as the pair slipped out of the room. “You can have your fill of drink tomorrow and be a drunk fool then, but not before.”

Merlin and Gwaine passed Gaius on the stairs, making his way toward the festivities upstairs. “Not too late, gentlemen,” he smiled, patting both of them on the shoulder.

“Can we bring you back anything, Gaius?” Gwaine called.

“Merlin. Otherwise I have everything I need right here,” the man stated in a warm voice.

Gwaine planted a loud, prickly kiss on Merlin’s face. “You all make it sound like I’m a bad influence! I’ll bring him back in one piece. You might want to check on Arthur, though. I may have accidently over stepped a line with the little duke.”

“What did you do?” Merlin wondered as he was steered down the stairs.

“I may or may not have given him a poke in the ass. I thought he was you.”

“Why would you poke me there?” Merlin exclaimed.

“His head was in the lilacs!” Gwaine defended as they rounded the corner, leaving a laughing Gaius behind. “He looked just like you from that end!”

They were all but howling with laughter as their steps picked up speed and they practically ran to the stables. Aithusa’s head was already poking out of the window of her stall, but neither horse really needed a saddle. As soon as Aithusa took the bit into her mouth, she was striding for the exit. All Merlin could do was grip her mane and throw a leg over her back. Atlas and Gwaine were just as swift and galloped past, kicking up bits of soil.

“Oh!” Merlin exclaimed when his mount charged forward. He quickly moved with her and they not only caught up, but passed by Gwaine’s booming laughter.

“Should we have invited Leon?” Gwaine called behind him. “He did most of the heavy lifting today.”

“He might already be there!” Merlin yelled over the wind. “He likes to play cards!”

“Naughty boy!” Gwaine guffawed. The tavern was on the edge of town, convenient for members of the Pendragon household to frequent if they wished and sure enough, Leon answered Gwaine’s holler of welcome. Gwaine was in charge of getting drinks and Merlin claimed a table while Leon finished a game and spent his winnings on a large shepherd’s pie for the three of them. He placed slices on plates as Gwaine lumbered over the table bench and held up his mug. “Happy belated birthday, mate. Thanks for picking up this English scrap and returning him to his motherland.”

“Shame on you,” Leon jibed at Merlin, earning a punch in the ribs from Gwaine. Coughing a laugh, he uttered a broken, “Happy birthday.”

Merlin was all laughs as he thunked his tankard with theirs. His gaze was pulled along the trail of lanterns mounted on the walls, casting dim lighting across the rustic tables and Arthur swiveling his head as he came through the front door.

Merlin barked into his beer, beating his chest to clear his throat as Arthur’s eyes found them. “What are you doing here?” he uttered when the youth arrived at their table.

Leon had the mind to greet, “My lord,” before he gulped from his beverage.

Arthur took the open space beside Merlin with a glare that suggested he should shut his mouth. “It’s my birthday, and it’s me who should abandon servants to a pub, not the other way around.”

“He has a point,” Leon agreed whereas Gwaine pivoted to read the clock on the wall.

“Technically, not for another three hours.”

“Merlin got a month, I can have two days,” Arthur snapped as he lifted Merlin’s tankard to his lips.

“Hey,” Merlin chided, pulling his drink back. “You’re not proving anything by drinking half of it in one go.”

“You’re behaving like I haven’t done this before,” Arthur scolded in turn as he searched for coins in his coat pocket.

“Seeing as you’re having difficulty counting, why should I think you’ve paid for anything yourself?” Merlin countered.

Arthur chose to spend the moment looking over his coins before he met Merlin’s gaze. “What ever happened to reading every night? My priorities have risen for the better while yours have fallen.”

Merlin could not very well tell him that he had taken up practicing magic with a dragon during the last five years, so he let the youth stand and go to the bar on his own. To his mild surprise, Arthur successfully ordered and waited while the bartender pulled the tap.

“He missed you.”

Merlin found Gwaine observing him with his chin resting on his hand. “What?”

Gwaine explained, “He made the effort to sneak away from his mother, a woman who is not easily deceived, and refused the company of beautiful women. Even if those women were family, a young man like him should be picking their heads for advice.”

Merlin laughed at the thought of Morgana giving Arthur advice on women. “I think his sister would take his head off, put it back on backwards, and tell him to try and handle a woman that way.”

One of Leon’s brows ticked. “Not much of a difference either way, is there?”

Gwaine patted his shoulder empathetically and replied to Merlin, “He was looking for you when I found him.”

Merlin frowned. “Why?”

Gwaine shrugged around a bite of pie. “He said something about avoiding Gaius but if that were the case, he could have gone anywhere, not stick his head in a plant trying to find you.”

Leon guffawed over his plate. “Your reputation precedes you even after half a decade, Merlin—”

The crash and shatter of glass jerked their heads toward the bar, where Arthur had clearly been thrown onto the bar and was wrestling with a much older man. If the latter’s glassy eyes were any indication, he was three lagers too deep. Merlin, Leon, and Gwaine simultaneously shot to their feet as Arthur bellowed, “Get your blooming hands off!”

Gwaine gripped the man in a headlock the same moment Leon got a hold on Arthur. Merlin’s eyes once more found all the lanterns in the place and with a single thought, snuffed them out. The last thing they needed was it to be known that the heir of Pendragon was in a bar brawl.

A cautioned hubbub escalated into panic. “Wha’s funny wi’the lights?”

“I's just like having your eyes closed.”

A shriek sounded that was followed by a loud slap.

A louder voice exclaimed, “Again! This again?”

“What ‘again’?”

“Nothin’. He’s drunk,” someone countered, but the notion of abnormal activity sent everyone on edge and another shattering of glass had everyone knocking chairs over in their haste to get out of the pub.

“Can’t stand this town! Everything’s fucking haunted!”

“Oh no,” Gwaine mumbled a second before Merlin was knocked to the ground by the minute stampede. The tavern emptied quickly enough and Merlin rubbed a fresh bruise on his thigh as Leon pulled him to his feet. A match struck, and light bloomed across Arthur’s face as he relit one of the lanterns. Glass crunched under their feet as the door creaked open again.

“Well…you make yourselves easy to find,” Morgana commented dryly.

“What are you doing here?” Arthur exclaimed.

“I am more entitled to a pint than you,” she replied in a monotone. Arthur grumbled something unintelligible to all but Morgana’s ears. “You’re the youngest person here, Arthur,” she finished while reaching over the bar and filling her own pint…and drained it.

All eyes except Merlin’s gaped dumbly until she set the glass down and announced, “Shall we go before Arthur causes more trouble?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Leon agreed, guiding the young duke out by the shoulders. “I would have placed the bet on Gwaine causing a mess but these odds aren’t safe.”

Arthur made retorts as he was ushered from the tavern, to which Leon made intelligent and patient remarks. The ride back was brief, but as they returned from the stables, Morgana pulled Merlin back and then all the way around the castle to the deepest recesses of the garden.

“Let’s practice,” she said.

“Ygraine will know if you’ve slept or not,” he countered, moving an apple tree branch out of the way.

“I never feel tired after we practice. Magic is better than sleep!”

“Sshh!” Merlin hushed, looking around them. “It’s bad enough that we look like—”

“Look like what, Merlin?” she grinned. “Like we’re lovers hiding away, or pagans worshipping the moon?”

She laughed and pulled him over the crumbled ruins of the wall and he just managed to hold her back before she took off through the open trees beyond. “Either one! It’s dangerous enough if someone sees us, let alone if they hear what we’re doing.”

“You worry too much,” she whined, although quietly.

“I really don’t,” he countered.

“It just us out here, Merlin,” she assured, “and I’m really close to lighting the candles like you taught me.”

He tugged her back when she tried to go over the wall again. “We don’t have candles out here. You can’t practice on trees.”

The look on her face seemed as if she had not even considered this. “Then teach me something new,” she prompted.

“Magic is uncannily like exercise,” he chided. “The reason why you couldn’t handle it was because you shouldn’t gallop when you can’t even make the horse walk.”

Morgana bobbed with restless tension. “I’m not riding anything! This is all within myself.”

“But it isn’t!” he pleaded. “Once you let it out you might not simply light a candle, you could burn the estate down. I can’t teach you to grow flowers or move objects if your power extends in an unleashed way. You _need control._ ”

“Why?” she asked flatly. “Other than avoiding inconvenience, why do you stress this whole restraint ideal? Are you worried I’ll surpass you?” she finished with a coy smile.

Merlin sighed heavily. “Morgana, I would relish the day someone had a harder time with this than I do. And this isn’t a matter of inconvenience! There is genuine danger here, I thought you knew that!”

She heaved a breath, then. “All right. All right, I do. I really do, but I finally feel like…I don’t know, I have a purpose? That I not only have a skill but something I can excel in, regardless of titles, genders, or expectations. Besides, you’re with me. Why should I worry?”

“You think I’m gullible to your deceit,” he quipped, causing her to laugh. Her long hair dangled over her back when she tossed her head. “There might be something…” he began.

Her eyes widened. “Yes?”

He thought some more. “I haven’t done this before so give me a minute.”

This time he vaulted over the stone and dashed to an area where the solid stone protected them from prying eyes in the castle. He heard the rustle of her skirts behind him as he hunched his shoulders, bringing his hands close to his mouth as if he was cold. Morgana tried to lean in close to hear the words he was whispering, but before she could hear, a dull white glow bloomed in between his hands. His fingers opened to reveal an orb of light, the facets wriggling like the veins of light under water.

“Catch.”

She frowned suddenly as the light was tossed to her. As soon as she touched it, the orb evaporated, throwing them into darkness. “How did you make that?”

Instead of answering he said, “Channel your energy and keep your magic at the forefront of your mind. Don’t let it out, necessarily…just on the skin of your fingertips so you can sustain the energy of the ball.”

He pinched one hand’s fingertips together and opened them, revealing a fresh orb. “You’re a show off, you know that?” she accused, but she retreated to allow him room to throw.

When he sent it across the space the light began to dim, and instead of extinguishing when she caught it, the light exploded with such luminescence that she shrieked and he ducked under his arms. In her panic, Morgana lost control and the light went out. “Well,” Merlin said dryly, “that’s our cue to leave.”

Morgana glared at him. “You’ve made your point. Now let’s get inside before someone comes out to see what that was.”

Their worries turned out to be for naught because the household was already asleep. Even Cook was absent from the kitchen. She usually stayed up making final preparations or monitoring the baking of larger dishes but with such an important occasion on the morrow, every servant was resting.

Morgana and Merlin paused in the corridor that forked into either Gaius’s rooms or to the rest of the house. They looked at one another, silently asking each other what the sounds were that they were hearing. Morgana turned around to continue up the stairs to her room and investigate, but Merlin’s irises shined gold as he peered through stone and carpets…

He quickly went after her and caught her arm in the foyer, but they were only one floor higher and they could hear the voices more distinctly. “Oh,” Morgana uttered, deadpan. “You’d think they would refrain from arguing during his birthday.”

She continued on her way without him, his thoughts caught on her words. _Arthur…_ he wondered, searching for him. The golden figure was easy enough to find, but not in his room. Merlin opened the front doors on the other end of the foyer, and there he was, sitting on the stairs.

“It’s cold,” Merlin said, even though the night’s chill did not bother him. Arthur made no movement to imply it bothered him either.

“Don’t pretend like you can’t hear them,” Arthur murmured, emotionless. “There’s a reason I didn’t want to come back.”

“What?” Merlin tried to laugh as he descended the stairs to stand on the same step on which Arthur sat. “You mean you didn’t miss it here?”

Arthur glared up at him. “Who would miss their parents screaming at each other,” he said under his breath.

Merlin observed him for a time, the pair of them listening to the argument trickling to their ears from inside. “Gwaine said you were looking for me earlier. Why?”

Deadpan, Arthur answered, “So Gaius would make you drink his ridiculous tonic.”

Merlin laughed. “The green one or the yellow one?”

Arthur stared up at him. “There’s a yellow one?”

“It’s made from chamomile, don’t worry,” he chuckled, but they both flinched at the sound of crashing metal, like dishware thrown to the floor.

Arthur turned back around, staring at the gates he had left through for school and unhappily returned. “You can’t even tell whether it’s my mother or father who’s louder.”

Merlin was gazing into Ygraine’s room. Sure enough, she had been the one to cast the dishes to the floor but now Uther’s bellowing resonated through the house. He turned back to Arthur. “Well I know who’s the hungriest. Somebody disrupted my birthday dinner twice this evening.”

“Not sorry,” Arthur grumbled, and then, “Wait, Gwaine’s at fault for the first time.”

“Yes, my lord,” Merlin assented, and then held out his hand, “Are you coming?”

Arthur perked up, his gaze wandering between the offered hand and Merlin. “Where?”

“The kitchens. I know where Cook hides her cold roast.”

Arthur settled back on his crossed arms on his knees. “We’re not children anymore.”

“You haven’t had dinner,” he contradicted.

“You don’t know that,” Arthur rebuked.

“I do. You arrived at the pub too quickly to have eaten anything with Ygraine. Come on.”

“You don’t give the orders here, Merlin.”

“Fine, sire, now come on. The door will lock behind me.”

He heard Arthur quickly stand behind him and then land on the carpet before the door shut. They went to the kitchen and Merlin told him to wait while he went into the cellar for the cold roast. When he returned, Arthur had taken perch on the counter, his feet dangling. “Don’t lean to your left,” Merlin instructed as he lit a match to light the stove.

He dumped water, vinegar, and asparagus into a pan and was chopping garlic when Arthur asked, “You cook?”

“Of course,” he hummed. “What sort of servant would I be if I couldn’t feed a stomach as empty as your head?”

Merlin had foolishly set a wooden spoon too close and it became the weapon Arthur walloped against his head. “Do you know you can’t beat your way through life, my lord?”

“I can try, starting with you,” Arthur sassed.

The spoon clattered beside the pan as Merlin rubbed at his scalp. “I don’t know why you go to school if you can’t bother to outsmart people instead of using violence.”

“It is difficult to out smart someone if they haven’t any intelligence to overcome,” Arthur retorted.

Merlin did not care to risk the integrity of his spoon so he relinquished, “That’s a start,” and plated the asparagus alongside the beef when it was finished. Arthur was hungrier than he let on, cleaning his plate so quickly that he cut meat off the bone himself for seconds. At some point he began to wander the kitchen, examining it as if he had never really taken a good look at this place. Merlin suspected he hadn’t.

“Which of these is the mint tea?”

Merlin came over to the window ledge where the dried herbs and fresh plants were lined up. “These are the dried leaves, and this is the fresh mint,” he said, pointing between the jar and potted plant next to it.

Arthur smelled both and then wondered, “What are these others?”

Merlin took him through the dried lemon, orange, and lime rinds; there were dried rose blooms, chamomile, barley, and green tea nibs. “The hibiscus flowers are over here. Gaius has more in his room.”

“I don’t know these,” Arthur said, taking the jar from Merlin and smelling the contents.

“In here,” Merlin ushered, leading him to Gaius’s rooms. The man himself peeked up from his book when they entered. “We got this when we were in Eastern Europe,” Merlin said when they arrived at the large hibiscus plant. A lone red blossom bobbed when Merlin pulled it forward for Arthur to see.

“It doesn’t smell,” he observed, slightly disappointed.

“The Turks have enough spices and incense to not care for fragrant flowers, I imagine,” Gaius chuckled, coming to stand beside them.

“Turks?” Arthur looked at Merlin. “When did you go to that far east?”

“Your mother wanted to see Greece…we wound up in Turkey,” he shrugged.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Arthur accused but Gaius placed a hand on his shoulder.

“To an adventurous heart, it makes perfect sense,” he began while Merlin glanced behind him and up into the castle the same moment Ygraine’s voice whispered in his mind, _Merlin..._

He frowned and squeezed Gaius’s arm. His elder only spared a second to read the situation and then occupied Arthur while Merlin climbed the levels of the castle.

“My lady?” he said, pushing through her curtains. She turned but not fully, avoiding his gaze. One of her hands was on her hip, the other draped across her abdomen to rest on the same hip. Something was wrong, and Merlin could hear it in her voice, see it in her stance.

“Where is my son?”

“Downstairs, with Gaius,” he assured, approaching behind her. “I just came from there. I left him to come to you.”

“Good…good,” she swallowed, turning away from him. Merlin spared a moment to look at the mess of her room, but in an instant everything was in its rightful place.

“My lady?” he asked softly.

She laughed, but it caught in her throat. “I’ve told you not to call me that when we’re alone, Merlin.”

“That hasn’t stopped me,” he said, opening his palm for a pair of blue moths to fly in front of her vision. Her shoulders startled slightly, but her exhalation was calm as she extended a hand for them to land on. “Is there anything I can do?”

She was quiet for a while, breathing deeply before she said, “Take care of Arthur.”

He came to stand beside and a little behind her, reaching around for one of the moths to crawl onto his finger. “You said I am your steward first.”

He could see tears silently sliding down her cheeks. “I need someone I can trust to look after my son.”

“Are you saying Gaius can’t keep up to do it himself?”

A laugh all but barked out of her throat, escaping despite herself. She turned suddenly and fell into him. He easily caught her and folded his arms around her, lightly twisting to coax out her gentle sobs. He thought for a long moment before he asked, “What were you arguing about that makes your husband untrustworthy?”

“Ugh,” Ygraine scoffed. She stood on her own and wiped her tears. “Don’t pretend as if you would ever trust Uther with Arthur’s wellbeing.”

Merlin extracted a handkerchief from his waistcoat and cleaned her face himself. “My opinion of him doesn’t matter. He loves Arthur, I’ve always known that.”

“It does matter,” she contradicted, “because Uther would sculpt Arthur in his image so he could be as immortal as he could manage. Your opinion of my husband will become the opinion of my son if we are not careful.”

Merlin frowned, wiping a drop from her chin before it fell. “Then…why didn’t you object to sending him away to London?”

“Because it was my idea,” she said. He watched her go to the window, holding her elbows. “As much as I worry, as much as I physically ache to have him apart from me, he isn’t safe here. There aren’t enough eyes on him. At school someone is always watching him, his teachers, his peers. With how the servants ignore mine and my husband’s arguments, I can’t trust anyone to notice any danger. The day you arrived here, he wandered off and no one could tell me where he had gone…except you.”

She rotated to look at him, a smile on her lips despite the sadness and fear in her eyes. “You’ve always found him and protected him. You will guard him against that awful woman—”

Merlin had come to her by the window, and closed her inside his embrace again. “Nimueh won’t touch him,” he promised. She closed an arm behind his waist but rested the other on his chest, wiping stray tears. Merlin did not have it in him to say that the witch might not be targeting Arthur…he scolded himself for not noticing it the night he met Nimueh. Why would she have her sights set on Arthur only to meet Ygraine several kilometers away? With Nimueh in town, either Pendragon could be a target but Merlin trusted Gaius’s suspicions. As long as Arthur was with either Gaius, Gwaine, Leon, or himself, he was safe. With Ygraine in his arms, he could feel her heart beating too quickly, her skin too hot, and he could only hope that she was in the midst of an early menopause; not under a witch’s influence.

“Go to bed, love,” she said, finally pushing him away. “You’re right. Someone needs to keep up with Arthur, and Gaius is too old. Gwaine will distract Leon with wine, so it must be you tomorrow. Good luck,” she finished with a ragged laugh.

Merlin could not gather the energy to return it, but he was dismissed, so he left. He passed Arthur in the hallway. “You have an annoying habit of disappearing suddenly. What did my mother want?”

Merlin shook his head. “Just to finalize some things for tomorrow.”

Arthur frowned. “Like what?”

Merlin managed a smirk. “To make sure someone can baby-sit you.”

A rough _tsk_ sound came from him and he disappeared inside his room. Merlin went to his and Gaius’s rooms, where they shared an evening tea and then he briefly washed using the basin in his room before lying on his bed, wide awake. Watching the castle sleep above him, he saw Morgana restlessly lie awake as well before she eventually fell asleep. He watched over her dreams for a time, but after a few nudges her mind was fully at rest. Even Gaius blew out his candles at some point.

_Will you not see me tonight, Emrys?_

He blinked, considering. He had gotten less sleep for more eventful days, so he stood and silently slipped out of Gaius’s rooms on bare feet. He tucked in his white shirt so it did not catch on anything while he left—

The door to the kitchen shut as he rounded the corner. His eyes flashed, looking through the door and into the night…Ygraine was leaving the property.

_See to her._

Merlin did not need any further prompting. He walked silently behind her, wondering if she was sleep walking, but the intent in her stride was too conscious. For a long time Merlin had no idea where she was going; maybe she just wanted to walk, or the quiet of the castle was unnerving compared to the night’s music.

He feared he had lost her until he clumsily broke through a crowded ridge of shrubbery and stumbled onto a pebbled riverbank. The sight before him threw him into a rapid whirl of emotions: _why didn’t she hear that? Oh she’s not here. No, the water is rippling—why is she under the water?_

Her head emerged, her hair slicked back as she opened her throat toward the sky. It was not the first time he had seen her swim but this was different. Instead of smiles he saw a grimace. Instead of laughter he heard sobs. Rain was not there to dance in her happiness. The night was silent and abandoning.

Ygraine stood neck deep in the water, staring listlessly across the silver surface. With every other breath her brow furrowed, her lips pressing together in pain. The air sounded as if it was struggling to travel out of her throat…

The water around her began to glint differently than the moon’s reflection on it, causing her to look up. Her dewy eyes sought Merlin’s, whose hand was extended as he knelt on the water’s surface. The ripples of water seeking the shore rustled over his toes. Ygraine observed this and lifted her heavy lashes alongside her hand. The same way the water supported her weight, she felt herself rise, until she too was standing over the water.

He did not say anything. He simply took her hand like she used to do with him, and took a step. She looked up at him, perplexed, but the number of times she had made him practice dancing, her feet moved on their own until a weak smile curved her lips and she squeezed his hand.

Dancing on the water was strange in its familiarity; like they were moving across glass or soft, wet sand. Wherever Merlin went, the water bloomed with luminescence beneath him, the magic of the lake reflecting with his. Murky brown fish glistened with green and blue. Algae flecked with gold swirled with the currents, but mostly it was deep, translucent blue; so far from the murky yellow the water usually was. Eventually Ygraine was able to laugh and lean into him, trusting him to not let her fall into the depths when he twirled her.

“Merlin, what is that?” she asked after a time. He looked but the light was not strong enough. At first he thought she had only seen a cluster of freshwater kelp but when they walked over the spot he saw it more clearly. “Is that…?” she uttered.

_It belonged to Hadrian._

“Why is it at the bottom of a lake?” Merlin said aloud. He felt the hum of the dragon’s mind inside his own, but he was not given an answer.

“Perhaps this area was not always a part of the riverbed,” Ygraine wondered, bending to get a better look at the lake’s depths. Merlin was squinting, trying to see how much rust was on it, but Ygraine was yawning. “Perhaps it is time to return.”

Merlin peeked at her with a lifted brow. “Your voice sounds like it wants the exact opposite.”

She gave him a look. “The things you and I could do if the need for sleep did not hold us back.”

He turned them back toward the shore. “I don’t sleep much anymore.”

She pinched his arm. “Don’t brag to me.”

He laughed, letting his feet sink into the water when they were in the shallows so he could help her over the slippery stones. She had left her slippers on the bank, which he now grabbed and knelt to slide onto her…feet…

Something was different about her…in her. Lowered as he was next to her abdomen, Merlin felt something almost like a change in temperature, a cold patch brushing against his face as if he was swimming, only this was something…vile. Something…malicious.

He had frozen in place, causing Ygraine’s voice to echo in his ears as if she was far away. Something in his consciousness told him not to, but another part of him knew he must. He looked past her clothing, into her flesh—

Merlin reared back as if he had been struck. Ygraine’s hands were on him, ushering him to stand up, but all he could see was the buildup of sickness in her lower abdomen, the discoloration of sooty magic inside her where there shouldn’t be.

“MERLIN.”

He heaved his gaze up, feeling the tickle of tears racing down his cheeks. “C—it’s c-c—”

She yanked him against the crook of her neck and rubbed his nape while he sniffed against her wet skin. “I know. Shhh, I know. Stop. Gaius has known for a long time. Hush, now.”

“What do you mean, he’s known?” he leaned back. “Why hasn’t this been fixed?”

“Because it _can’t_ be fixed,” she said firmly. “I’m not disillusioned. This isn’t something that can be cured.”

His eyes widened, horrorstruck. Gaius could not see magic. Surely that’s all this was, a misunderstanding; a physician diagnosing something physical when the malady was magical. He was shaking his head rapidly. “This isn’t that—this is Nimueh—this is—”

“Merlin,” she declared abruptly. Ygraine gripped his chin to halt his jitters and to have his full attention. “Promise me you won’t do anything. If it is my time to go, then you will let me part from this world. Do you hear me? I don’t want you to steal time for me. If it’s my time, then let me go.”

 _But it’s not time,_ he wanted to yell. _Nimueh has been killing you since Arthur was born._

Ygraine pulled him back against her, rubbing his hair. “It’s not about me anymore,” she whispered.

Merlin wanted to be selfish, wanted to say, _Of course not. I’m the one who loses the only friend I can be my entire self with,_ but he was silent.

He was only partially aware of turning around, of the crunch of pebbles underfoot and the change of rock to brush and then grass. At some point he found himself back in the castle, in his room, even. Ygraine could have helped him there but the wet rustle of her clothes might have awoken a light sleeper like Gaius, so Merlin sought the likely reason he was back.

_Dragon._

_Yes?_

_How long does she have?_

_She will die after this birthday._

Merlin’s jaw clenched. _Did you know?_

_Yes._

_Would you never tell me?_

_Those whom death has chosen do not escape, young warlock. Not even I can give pause to death’s course, nor can you. Such magic is forbidden._

Merlin’s eyes widened. _But it is possible?_

The dragon’s voice darkened. _Put it far from your mind. Such magic is more dangerous to the user than the person they bring back. The only reason Nimueh still lives is because she found a crack through which to escape._

Merlin rolled over on his bed, seeing through the feather and stone to where the dragon was curled up beneath him. _What do you mean?_

_She created life when there should not have been. Life is balanced with death, but instead of her own, she has put Ygraine in her place. Among other reasons, I suspect. The witch grows impatient._

_You can see her?_

_I can._

_Where is she?_ he asked too quickly, but the dragon hardly missed a beat.

_I will not tell you. You would race forward to meet her, but you are not ready._

_You wanted me to kill her, but now I am not ready?_ he interrogated.

_When she was surprised and vulnerable, you could have eliminated her, but the time has passed. She has grown stronger and continues to do so. She is a master of old magic. The strongest of magic._

_Stronger how? What am I?_ he wondered.

_You are of old magic, of course, but one accident could mean your ruin. And why do you think she supplied the Pendragons with a child? Why would she give the man who distrusts and seeks to eliminate magic users an heir?_

Merlin frowned, trying to make a connection. _Ygraine’s death would only infuriate Uther more…but without her…Arthur will be just like Uther._

_No, but you are close. She created Arthur. Arthur is crafted from old magic, an element she knows as well as you know your own skin. Fierce though Uther is undoubtedly, he is easily swept aside. Ygraine is not._

_Because of me?_

_I suspect her visit to town has been to see how the Pendragon household is faring, and she is not happy to see it doing quite well. She knows this is because of you, and likely does not want Arthur to have the same protection as Ygraine._

Merlin piled his fists and rested his chin upon them. _Then why not come after me if she is stronger? You make it sound as if she can use Arthur like some sort of talisman._

The dragon was silent. Merlin peeked down and observed him lift his great head up and stare directly at him. _As long as Arthur has a mind of his own, he is independent of her. Ygraine has always encouraged him to be his own man and to sculpt his own mind. If she dies, if he falls under Uther or Nimueh’s influence, he is lost. He will become brainless and for an heir of the most powerful dukedom, who is so close in the line of succession, to become a slave of the witch…_

 _How can you say that I shouldn’t keep Ygraine alive?_ Merlin exclaimed.

The dragon’s head settled to rest on his crossed paws once more. _I never said you shouldn’t. There is a difference between eliminating dark magic and retying a loose thread cut by death._

Merlin began to breathe easier, unclenching his fists and resting on his crossed forearms instead. _Dragon…_

_Hm?_

_You once said I am the descendent of Hadrian…_

_You are,_ he confirmed. _Not unlike you, he was a Dragon Lord and a bringer of old magic to a modern realm._

_Did the Celts not have magic? I thought they would be the first druids._

_If you remember Arthur’s javelin practices, then you know the difference between petty spell tricks compared to live warfare. This country would have been pulled into the ruin of the Roman empire if he had not existed._

_Would…_ Merlin began, but then thought more before he continued, _If I am Hadrian’s heir…does that make me…?_

The dragon chuckled, not even bothering to lift his head. _Would you want to be?_

The answer was ready in Merlin’s heart but he took a moment to breathe and consider it. _No. I can barely watch over Ygraine and Arthur, how would I be king of an entire country and colonial empire?_

The air trembled where the dragon exhaled. _Then place it far from your mind, young Emrys, and sleep._

So he did, and rose early to tend Ygraine’s fierce morning cramps, to the extent that he applied his magic to her teas—just in time before Arthur burst into the room.

“Mama, when am I supposed to—Mother? Are you all right?” He had come to an abrupt halt, staring at Merlin carefully pulling her upright in bed. Sweat adorned her brow but she managed a smile.

“I’m fine. Just didn’t manage to get enough sleep. What were you asking?”

She took another sip of tea before Merlin helped her the last of the way to her feet. He folded her arm inside his elbow to walk her across the room to her vanity. “You must finish it, my lady,” he urged.

“Finish what?” Arthur piped, stepping forward.

“Just tea. The kind Gaius insists on,” she laughed. “Merlin, you’ll bring me coffee afterward?”

He nodded and meant to leave in order to fetch the bathtub, but he moved slowly through the curtains, watching the last drops of the fluid slide between Ygraine’s lips.

Arthur was still there when he returned and the maids filled it with water. He poured the two kettles of boiling water into it until the water was the temperature she liked, and still Arthur remained. Merlin peered up at him and was not sure which he found more of: a protective son not liking another man attending his mother’s bath, or a defiant prat wanting to spend his birthday bothering Merlin.

Ygraine clearly noticed this and voiced as much. “What an odd way to spend your birthday, seeing your mother naked.”

Arthur sputtered as if he had been kicked in the gut. “That’s not funny!”

“Then get out,” she huffed, shaking her head as if a year older was nothing.

“But he—”

“Is my steward. Good god, Arthur, we’ve been over this. You must be outside welcoming guests. Would it rest your nerves to know Merlin has already seen me naked?”

Arthur gaped like a fish. “NO!”

Merlin winced. “My lady…”

“Huh,” she scoffed. “Then it’s wasted energy to be concerned about it.”

“I can leave,” Merlin interrupted. “It’s not an issue—”

“You’re right,” Ygraine agreed a bit too perkily. “Nothing’s wrong, so you won’t leave. Arthur. Get out. Before your father comes looking for you. Merlin. Pour the coffee.”

Arthur’s aghast eyes held Merlin’s apologetic ones before the latter turned to the coffee press. When he heard the curtains and door shut, Merlin asked, “Why are you goading him, my lady?”

He turned around and found her already in the tub. She glanced beside her to watch the milk flush inside the glass cup. “I’m teaching him to trust you,” she said while accepting the cup.

He tried to process that and said, “I’m not sure that’s the best method.”

She sipped her coffee before she answered, “I am in no rush for him to grow up in certain regards, but his maturity deserves a growth spurt.”

When she had finished her bath she stepped into Merlin’s towel much more strongly than how she had gotten out of bed. By the time she was dressed and Merlin had changed his shoes and jacket for the festivities, most of the guests had arrived. Merlin silently came to stand behind the Duchess while she greeted her brother, Agravaine, but Merlin’s eyes found Gaius, who exchanged a smile with him, and then Arthur, who scowled and looked away. Merlin was brought back to Ygraine by the startling enthusiasm of Lady Tremaine.

“You look wonderful,” she twittered, kissing the air beside Ygraine’s cheek. “You remember by daughter, Vivian.”

Merlin got a good look at this Vivian, who did not have the grace to look at the Duchess when her name was said. She was looking across the gardens at Arthur, and then up at the estate. Merlin could not decide if the pucker in her lips meant that she was unimpressed by the Pendragon mansion or that she was planning on how to get it. When she finally gave Ygraine her attention, Merlin promptly decided to dislike her.

“Lovely gown. Quite out of fashion but amazing that it still fits. Older women usually have large bellies but you’ve taken good care of yourself.”

Merlin stared bluntly at her but the Duchess was swift. “On the contrary, this was brought back from France recently. The hem is slightly different, you see. England has not caught up with the fashion, you understand.”

Vivian looked down as if she had never deigned to cast her eyes below her chin level and it was a foreign experience. She did not respond to the Duchess. As she and her mother left to mingle with other guests, Ygraine cast her eyes sideways at him. Merlin understood and twisted his foot in the grass to turn toward Arthur.

He was speaking with Leon and another son of some earl, but once they had wandered elsewhere Arthur said quietly, “Are you playing as my steward now?”

“It is your birthday, my lord,” Merlin chimed. “I will attend to your every need.”

“What if I want you to go away?”

“That is a want, not a need.”

Arthur sighed loud enough to garner Morgana’s attention. He stood up from where he had been leaning back against the hors de oeuvres table when Guinevere approached alongside her. “Hello, Merlin,” she smiled, coming beside him.

Arthur stared bluntly between Merlin’s smile and Guinevere’s addressing him first, but she turned to him and wished, “Happy birthday, my lord.”

“You’re in low spirits for such a day,” Morgana contradicted.

Arthur eased back onto the table with his arms crossed. “Spending my birthday with my parents’ acquaintances instead of my friends is less than ideal.”

“Oy, are you saying we’re not mates?” Gwaine arrived. He had a plate full of food but with his free hand he placed a sprig of small flowers in Gwen’s hair.

“I haven’t decided if you assaulted your lord or not,” Arthur said, but around a laugh.

“Is it necessary to cut the cake after dinner?” Morgana diverted. Merlin laughed and by the time dinner was finished and the cake emerged, everyone was ready for sugar. Cook had outdone herself with a three-tiered chocolate cake with thin layers of cherry preserves separating the layers. The guests ate first but when they separated for the cigar room or parlor for tea and coffee, Merlin eagerly sliced pieces off for himself, Guinevere, Gwaine, and Leon snuck away to have seconds. It was not long before Arthur caught them red handed and chocolate smudged.

“Leon, father’s about to make the toast,” he said before he realized what they were doing. “Get your grubby hands off my cake, _Merlin!"_

Merlin slumped dejectedly, his eyes wide and cheeks full. Leon gripped his shoulder with an empathetic, “Unlucky,” while Gwaine sneaked a larger slice before slipping out the back door.

“Guinevere, I don’t know why you keep such company,” Arthur was saying as Merlin covered the cake in its large glass bell cover.

She gave a laugh and said, “It was hardly Merlin’s idea. I would have been lonely if the others didn’t think of it first. Besides, did you intend to eat it all yourself?”

“No,” he stood up straight, “that would be illogical.”

He turned to lead the way and Merlin rolled his eyes when Gwen smirked at him. The main dining hall was filled with people, enough to fill a pair of long tables perpendicular to the Duke’s at the end of the hall. Ygraine sat to his left with Morgana and Arthur resumed his seat at his right. Merlin stood with Gaius behind one of the guests’ tables on the left, in view of Ygraine and Morgana while Uther stood and raised his glass. The hall was immediately silent.

“Friends and relatives, thank you for coming,” he began. Merlin sent his gaze across the hall. As far as he knew, Agravaine was the only relative present. He wondered where Tristan was sailing right now.

“On this day, fifteen years ago this morning, the love of my life gave me not only a son, but more than most men achieve in three sons. Arthur has proven himself to be driven and accomplished. We look forward to his graduation after next spring. At sixteen, he will be the youngest Pendragon to leave the academy and start his tour. I look forward to seeing many more accomplishments from him.”

Merlin’s brows tensed, wanting to rise but he kept his expression placid. _No pressure,_ he thought.

“Please raise your cups to his fourteenth year, and welcome his fifteenth,” Uther finished.

“To Arthur,” the room hummed, and all drank. Merlin and Gaius did not have cups but they spoke with the others.

As Ygraine set her cup down she met Merlin’s gaze and smiled. He matched it and she discretely beckoned, waving her hand over the table as if to adjust her sleeve. Arthur watched as Merlin rounded the table with his hands behind his back and bent close for Ygraine to speak directly in his ear. “Remove me from this place.”

He held out his arm, braced for her to heave herself up while he pulled her chair out. The door behind the Pendragon table made for an easy escape, but before it closed, Arthur followed them, “Mama, is something—”

She turned a bit to quickly. The way she clenched Merlin’s arm, he knew she was far from all right, but she grinned, “Fine, love, fine. Go back to your feast.”

Arthur frowned. “I don’t care about my bloody feast—”

“Arthur,” she uttered fiercely. Sweat began to speckle her brow. Arthur stood frozen, and she exhaled a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she said more gently. “I’m fine, really. I just don’t want to cause any concern. Merlin will attend to me.”

Arthur looked as if he wanted to speak but he finally sent a stoic glance to Merlin and went back through the door. Merlin felt a heaviness in his stomach. “My lady, there’s nothing wrong with him seeing weakness.”

“Not today,” she exhaled, her grip on him lessening. “Not today…”

The pit in Merlin’s gut swooped up as her knees gave out and he just managed to catch her. Lifting her into his arms, he swiftly climbed the stairs and set Ygraine on her bed. Pulling on her shoulder and hip, he rolled her onto her side and undid her laces but she was not wearing a corset. Merlin yanked the dress until it was off and lifted her eyelids to check her pupils, tilted her chin to make sure her airway was open, and then stroked a thumb between her brows. They twitched in pain. Merlin’s palm came to rest over her forehead as he carefully pushed into her mind and found the hot, inflamed hub where her brain was processing the pain. Eclipsing her mind with his magic, he gently disconnected her sense of feeling from her body before he put his other hand on her lower abdomen.

The magic there pushed against him violently. Merlin was glad to have Ygraine unable to feel pain, because as soon as he pushed his influence over the dark magic within her, _he saw Nimueh._

 _In his mind’s eye, she appeared surprised at first, but then she smiled._ I would call you slow but I admire your courage, Emrys.

_Merlin did not dignify that with an answer. He infused Ygraine’s flesh with magic, watching reality and the mental space he and Nimueh shared overlap. The golden particles trickled toward the sticky black cloud around Ygraine’s uterus, but they bounced off, like bees against a fence._

_Pride bloomed in Nimueh’s eyes but she did not outright grin. Her concentration was needed elsewhere. This gave her away._

_Merlin reached more forcefully while simultaneously covering Ygraine’s entire mind and nervous system in gold. The particles gathered in the shape of his hand, and the fingertips plunged inside the darkness. It was like pushing his hand through sand, surprisingly soft yet dense, with each grain scratching and clawing at his skin. It was sticky like cooked sugar but soft as soot. An odd sensation filled Merlin’s sinuses as if it had a smell, foul and bitter; sweet decay. It stuck in the back of his throat, making his eyes water._

You will kill her, Emrys. Your efforts are moot, _she said, but her magic bent and folded over his fingers when he pushed into it; malleable._ Would you rather I kill her or you?

 _But Merlin felt like laughing, and he felt a dragon deep underground grin with him as gold surged through Ygraine’s body. Merlin felt a dull ache in his gums and the tingle in his mind of the dragon licking over his canines._ You’re a liar. The death must be at your hand for your debt to be paid, but Ygraine Pendragon is under my protection. You have no place here.

_Gold consumed black, dissolving the fringe like blue flames burning through it. Nimueh’s power was writhing and lashing at him, but in her fury Merlin saw the connection between her mind and her magic, and he dove into it, severing it entirely. The cord snapped and whipped, and for a brief moment in time, Merlin and Nimueh’s minds were directly connected. The dragon opened his maw, and Merlin knew she saw it. He knew then that when she had taunted him for having a pet dragon, she had been teasing Ygraine about having Merlin. She had not known an actual dragon existed._

_She reared back, mentally and physically out of her depth, and their connection broke along with her magic. Blue infused black inside Ygraine’s body, and Merlin pulled it from her, sending it into the bouquet on her bedside table. The red roses Uther had given her blushed indigo, wilted, and died._

Slowly and carefully, Merlin lifted his magic out of the Duchess, especially when he eased off of the area of feeling in her brain. Her core was throbbing, so he stayed a while longer to heal the ravaged area. There was only so much he could do, but with sensitive words, he directed his magic to do his work. Soon Ygraine slept soundly. He patted sweat from her face and throat before he left the room.

Only to be yanked into Arthur’s room on the opposite side of the hall.

Merlin had a split second to squeeze his eyes shut and make sure his eyes were the right color before his back was pushed against the wall and he found Arthur nearly nose to nose with him. “Um—”

“You’re overstepping boundaries,” Arthur growled.

“Huh.”

“I saw you last night, and I see you and mother smiling at each other.”

“What?” Merlin’s eyes widened. He began to feel sick.

“I live right across from my mother’s room, Merlin. Did you think I didn’t know when she left the castle? I saw you follow her last night. Do you know how that looks?”

Merlin’s jaw had fallen open but his stomach hovered in his torso, unsure to hope or plummet. “Did you see…” he said but his voice was not behind it. Arthur interrupted him anyways.

“And when you returned, Mama’s hair was _wet?_ Where did you even go to swim and why?”

The air rustled through Merlin’s throat, slowly leaving as he settled more softly against the stone wall. Arthur had not seen. Merlin felt so much relief he could not speak, and his gaze sagged to the side.

“Merlin! I’m talking to you! Do you know what people are saying downstairs about ‘the Duchess’s steward’?”

Merlin laughed giddily. “Well they’re wrong, obviously.”

“What do you mean, ‘obviously’? I walked in on you preparing to _bathe_ her! She walks around you in her petticoats!”

“I don’t bathe her,” Merlin interrupted. “She’s more than capable of doing that herself.”

Arthur glared, deadpan, at him. “But everything’s fine for a woman to wander in her underthings?”

“It’s her room,” Merlin defended. “I’m usually too busy preparing for the day or cleaning the room to notice what she’s wearing. You bother yourself over other people’s clothing too much.”

He unwound Arthur’s hands from his waistcoat and scarf but Arthur did not move. “I don’t care how you indulge your fancies—”

All mirth left Merlin and he gaped at him. “I don’t fancy her! I know you’re thick but—”

Arthur scowled. “What do you mean you don’t fancy her? What’s unattractive about my mother?”

Merlin expression was blunt. “What? No, I mean, she’s all right but I don’t have _those_ attractions for her—This isn’t fair! You’re trapping me.”

A smirk teased at Arthur’s lips. “If you’re to be my steward, you’ll have to be quicker than this. A capable servant would have thwarted this kind of gossip.”

Merlin grimaced. “I don’t fancy her! As long as the right people know this, who cares? It’s none of your business whom I fancy!”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “Why not? If you’re thinking of getting married on the job you should let your employer know first.”

Merlin sighed with a roll of his eyes. “I am unlikely to get married, sire. I’ll die before I leave you alone with these people.”

For a moment Arthur was silent, gazing at Merlin’s sincerity before laughter threatened to break from his throat. “Your cock might dry out.”

Merlin was frozen, the epitome of dumbstruck before he erupted, “That’s physically impossible and completely irrelevant—!”

His breath halted in his throat at the sudden grip of Arthur’s hand between his legs. “We might as well discuss this now, but why here?” the youth wondered. “You could have hit me or grabbed my face, my arm…why here of all places?”

He squeezed, and Merlin squawked like a bird. “Ow! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Just giving you a hand,” Arthur hummed, and with a yank on Merlin’s laces. “At the academy we live so closely together this sort of thing is hardly a secret. When was the last time you touched yourself?”

“Arthur—ow, fuck.”

The clumsy hand gripped him through his underwear but Merlin felt far from aroused. Arthur reared back slightly. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse, Merlin.”

“Is that how you touch yourself?” he exclaimed.

Arthur was blatantly puzzled. He looked down at Merlin’s groin as if he could not understand why he was not reacting. “No…I suppose not but it’s different on another person.”

“You don’t say!” he growled. “If you touch a woman like this, she’ll break your ribs kicking you out of bed!”

Arthur grimaced. “How would you know?”

“Would you let go!” Merlin countered.

Instead he insisted. “Have you been with anyone?”

“Someone who was _rudely adamant,_ yes! Let go of that!”

Arthur blinked, his grip faltering. “A woman approached you? What did you do?”

Since his fingers loosened to hold the hem of his trousers Merlin acquiesced, “I didn’t really do anything. They seduced me before I realized I didn’t want it.”

Arthur was more perplexed than ever. “Why wouldn’t you want it?”

Merlin could not help but laugh. “Well pardon me for having slightly higher standards than just a nice bed partner.”

Arthur seemed to figure something out. “Was she a prostitute? That’s just like you, Merlin, making polite conversation before realizing their ulterior motives.”

“The circumstances were a little…different,” Merlin defended.

“What’s more different than paying for pleasure?”

Merlin’s brows lifted. “I don’t think they were going to make me pay.”

The furrow returned between Arthur’s eyes. “Who would want you that badly?”

Merlin’s eyes felt like they were going to fall out of his head. “Excuse you! It’s not so difficult to believe that people fancy me, thank you very much. And this coming from the boy who still has his hands down my trousers!”

“I’m not a boy any longer,” Arthur defended.

“Well you’re not a man yet, although I suppose stupidity is ageless,” Merlin sassed.

Arthur had the grace to disregard that and demanded, “What could you have done that would make them want you for free? A nice face wouldn’t help them pay for dinner.”

“For starters, I returned intelligent conversation,” he replied. “And I didn’t violate their mouth when they kissed me.”

“What do you mean ‘violate’?”

Merlin pointedly looked at the hands on his trousers. “Based on precedent, you seem like the sort to stick his tongue down another’s throat.”

Arthur looked guilty, as if he had struck a nerve somewhere. “Not all the way to their throat but…is that not seen as passionate?”

Merlin could not help but smile gently. “Less is more, really.”

“That doesn’t make sense—”

“How many people have you kissed?” Merlin challenged.

Arthur winced. “I wasn’t snogging with any of my classmates.”

“It sounds like you haven’t been snogging with anybody.”

Arthur turned defensive. “What’s so great about snogging anyway?”

“Only someone who hasn’t snogged would say that—OW!”

“How far did she get, then?” Arthur interrogated, finding Merlin’s penis again. “Since you know so much, what’s the proper technique?”

“Ow! Gently! And you don’t start there!”

The hands paused briefly only to pull again as if it was a lever for Merlin’s arousal. “Start where?”

Merlin gripped the lapels of Arthur’s waistcoat, annoyed and done with Arthur trying to use authority, and brought their lips together. The adolescent froze against the firm kiss, but Merlin’s chin lifted, moving their mouths across one another. His head tilted to change the angle, his pressure light and soft this time. He could feel Arthur’s lashes blinking rapidly, surprised by the softness. His own mouth relaxed as Merlin’s peppered it with small, tickling kisses.

Arthur had forgotten…something about this was new and familiar. He had never kissed Merlin before but he had not been this close to him in years. Merlin still smelled like flowers and warmth; like the first aroma of baked things during the holidays and fresh rain. By the time Arthur realized he was kissing back his mind was too clouded with something thick and consuming, yet light and wanted. He ventured pressing back, feeling the soft lips for himself and hearing the delicate sound of their lips parting.

Merlin thickened in his grip, rising with a slight but distinct jerk. They both froze. Arthur’s eyes opened to find Merlin’s already wide.

He left so quickly Arthur found himself standing alone and confused. Mostly because he had risen long before Merlin had.

**Author's Note:**

> This work has fanart!! [See it here and send the artist some love <3 !](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8837890/chapters/20264545)
> 
> I post my updates on [my Tumblr](http://pondermoniums.tumblr.com/) :)
> 
> [@Pondermoniums on Twitter](https://twitter.com/Pondermoniums)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fanart: Starlight by SCDo7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8837890) by [LytynUponCerellia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LytynUponCerellia/pseuds/LytynUponCerellia)




End file.
